


Sweet Vermouth

by AngelicSentinel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Here Lies the Abyss, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Dragon Age Big Bang, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Here Lies the Abyss Spoilers, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Pregnancy, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-con that are not acted upon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSentinel/pseuds/AngelicSentinel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris would do anything for Hawke—Even conquer the Fade itself. </p>
<p>Written for the Dragon Age Big Bang 2015. Art by spooky-scribbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You Are to Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> I had a great amount of fun working with spooky-scribbles over the course of this. The art style is just so adorable and full of feeling! You can catch their blog here: http://spooky-scribbles.tumblr.com/
> 
> First in the series of Here Lies the Abyss Hawke LI fix-its. Next up, FHawke/Isabela: _The Mizzen and the Main._

Fenris snarled—a twisted sound of pain and rage as the slaver’s sword glanced off his spiked pauldron. He stepped back to avoid the blow of the shield, and then let gravity do the work as he cleaved the slaver’s head in two. Blood splashed on his face, but he paid it no heed. It dripped down into the grass.

He sidestepped to the right in a quick pivot, let go of the sword, and reached through the slaver attempting to come up behind him. Intangible, he solidified his fist just enough to grasp hold of their heart and crush it to a pulpy mess. 

He let the now slack dead body fall from his hand. Cato, his mabari companion, leapt at their mage, tearing his throat out with her powerful jaws before Fenris could reach him with his sword. 

Fenris turned to the remaining slaver, eyes narrowed as the lyrium on his body glowed an unearthly blue. The man shook like a leaf in the wind, trying and failing again and again to notch an arrow to his bow. In one swift swing, Fenris sliced the bow in half, which did not hamper his sword from biting deeply into the man’s torso. 

His futile movements told Fenris that he was still alive. Fenris swung again at the man on the ground, decapitating him. It was more mercy than the man would have given any of his captives.

Danarius was dead, but greed was forever, and Fenris made excellent bait. They would never stop hunting him down. Not with the bounty on his head. Long ago, the thought of such a tiger remaining at his back would have bothered him, but now it played to his advantage. The trail of bodies from Ostwick to Perivantium said as much.

_Magisters_ , Fenris thought. _Always willing to take advantage of political upheaval. Especially since the fall of the Circles._ He had seen bands of roving slavers preying on young mages who were always willing to believe the best of the Magisters. _More fool they._

He turned his cool green eyes to one such woman. Girl, really, in a set of ragged apprentice robes: bloodstained, and covered with so much dirt the original colour was near unrecognisable. She couldn't be older than fourteen. She slumped against the ruined wall, face drained of all blood. She trembled on the ground, wringing her hands, and watched him the way a rabbit would the hounds. Her short hair was reddish-brown, her eyes a striking shade of emerald. The resemblance was nigh uncanny, save for the fact her skin was a pale, creamy rose, compared to a deep tawny brown. He closed his eyes and winced. _Hawke_.

She took a deep breath. ”T-t-thank you,” she managed to get out, looking at him but avoiding his eyes. He did not reply. Instead, he reached over and pulled her to her feet, steadying her when her legs attempted to give out on her again. Even though he was an elf, he must have stood a head and a half taller than her. 

“That was unwise,” he said in his saturnine voice. 

His voice caused her to glance up at him. Her green eyes widened. “You’re _him_!” she said, her voice breathless. She clutched her hands to her chest. Her eyes shone. “Fenris! The Lyrium Wolf!” He ignored her. Perhaps another avid reader of the dwarf’s _Tale of the Champion_. They had been cropping up more and more as of late. Mages were the worst of the lot, many of them seeing Hawke as their saviour due to her actions in Kirkwall.

“Mages,” he sneered, but it had no heat in it. He crossed his arms and scowled. _That damned book_.

He was completely unprepared when she threw herself at him. His hand jerked to his sword hilt, and his elbow hitting her breast must have hurt, but she burrowed her head into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you! Thank you!” He tensed at the contact, but his eyes softened, and he awkwardly patted her back with his free hand until she let go. 

“Tevinter lies. They were never going to help you,” he said.

She looked down. “I had nowhere else to go,” she said. She kicked back her foot, scuffing the toe of her boots on the ground. “They killed everyone else who fought back. They said I wouldn't be hurt if I didn't fight back, that I could become a magister's apprentice. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter now,” she hugged herself. “I should have known better.”

“Exactly so,” Fenris said. Then he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. _Maker preserve me from idiot mages_. He pointed behind them. “There’s a town, about a half day back. They have a recruiting centre for the Inquisition. They’ll take you in. I have heard from a friend mages are welcome.”

“But I don’t know anything about combat magic! I’m just an apprentice. I can barely heal!” She summoned her magic to her hand, and a tiny flame rose about an inch high before it sputtered out in the light breeze.

Truly pathetic. It could be a trick, but Fenris doubted that it were so. Especially not with Cato nosing the mage’s hand, wagging her tail. He trusted the mabari’s judgement. “Follow me,” was all he said. _Damn Hawke. And damn her for looking like Hawke_. He drew his cloak around himself and loped in the direction of the town. _Even when she isn’t here, I find myself looking after mages_. 

And the little mage did follow, quiet and meek as a mouse. Fenris bit back invective, wondering just when he had gotten so soft on mages. He still didn’t trust most of them, but outside of Kirkwall it was…different. He’d seen more abominations and blood magic in one year in that place than he’d seen in years anywhere else, even Tevinter. 

The walk back was quiet, thankfully. The slavers had probably driven everyone else from the roads. Not one prone to speech at the greatest of times, dark thoughts kept his mind in turmoil. Cato noticed his unease, and kept nudging Fenris’s hand with her head, trying to get him to pet her. She kept at it, and he indulged her with a pat or two. He also ignored any conversation attempts the little mage tried to start.

It didn’t dissuade her either, and after a while, he just let her conversation wash over him. For all she looked like Hawke, her ebullient personality reminded him far more of Merrill. Once he may have preferred the quiet, but not any more. Not truly. 

He left her with the Inquisition recruiter at the chantry, ignoring again the mage’s goodbyes and effusive thanks. He walked back to the tavern through late afternoon. He didn’t do it for her. He did it so Tevinter would have one less piece of cannon fodder in their ranks. Outsiders thought every mage had the potential to be in the Magisterium of the Senate, and Tevinter encouraged the assumption. They were notorious for sweet, poisonous lies. 

The mages had yet to make themselves magisters here, but it was early yet. Still, Hawke had shown him that some mages could be trusted. A group however, was something of which to be wary. With the Inquisition's power, who would know what they would do? 

The door banged open as Fenris entered. No one looked up. He ordered a bottle of something they dare called wine, watered down as it was. What he wouldn't give for a true apéritif, and not this mockery. Say what else you would about the south, but the one thing Fenris had found to be absolutely true was the lack of decent wine. The ale would probably be better, but he wasn't in the mood for the of memories that called up. The Hangman had its faults, but it was paradise compared to this. 

Fenris sat immobile, back against the wall in the corner of the tavern, eyes staring unseeing out the evening crowd. He let the chatter wash over him, the cacophony of the room a dull unintelligible roar. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweaty bodies packed together and old vomit. 

Through the window, the day faded into night with reluctance, the last fingers of daylight outstretched over the small town. Hawke had not returned this day, either. A week, then a fortnight, then a month, and still no sign of her. No letter. No missive. Nothing to let him know where she was, what she was doing, if she were all right. Just a little note she'd left at the beginning of it all, with not even an explanation:

_Will be back soon, amatus. Don't brood._

_—Em. Hawke_

_Soon. Pah!_ He had left her for only three days on a slaver run for Aveline. Busy as Hawke was consulting with her Grey Warden friend Alistair about the red lyrium, he didn’t think she’d have time to find trouble. He should have known better.

Fenris and Hawke didn't go out together all the time on runs. It was a vital necessity, seeing as how both of them were so distinctive in both dress and battle. A cloak could only hide so much after all, and the rumours of an Exalted March had her anxious, the outcome of the Conclave even more so.

He had been accustomed to solitude, once. Enjoyed it. Welcomed it even, and the quiet that went with it. But this silence choked him, threaded around him like noxious fumes, and left him gasping for air in the small cottage they called home. Intelligent as she was, Cato was no substitute for true company, and she was as worried as he was, staring at the front door awaiting Hawke's return day in and day out. 

“Excuse me, ser! Excuse me!”

He knew no one here. His contact had already left. It didn't sound like the little mage. They couldn't possibly be talking to him. He hunched even further into himself, pulling his cloak tighter about his face.

“Hey you! Elf!” He glanced around the bar. A distinct lack of elves, other than he. Or not. A Fereldan accent even. Curious.

“What do you want?” Fenris said, eyes still flickering around, watching for signs of ambush. 

“I have a letter for you, Ser,” the woman said, breathless. She wore the mark of the Inquisition on her cloak and a blue hood. A sunburst eye with a sword through it. “You're a damned hard man to track down, you know. I've been circling this part of the Free Marches for days.”

“Deliver it then, and begone,” Fenris said, crossing his arms. He was in no mood for this tonight.

“Maker's Breath! Who'd I piss off to get stuck with this?” She muttered. She handed the letter over. “All right then. Marked priority. Here you are, Ser.” She said. 

He recognised the handwriting as Varric's as he pulled out the letter and used the fingertip of his clawed gauntlet to break the seal. 

_Fenris,_

_I don't know if you've heard, and I really don't know what to tell you. Most of this is follow-up to Hawke’s last letter. I had this sent off as soon as I could find a free courier. Didn’t want to chance one of Nightingale’s birds. The move to Skyhold's gotten everything messed up._

_Well, shit. You'd think a storyteller would be able to write a simple letter, but this...this is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do._

He hadn't received any letters. A growing sense of unease filled Fenris, and he fought to keep the panic down. Fenris and Varric had kept in touch, as much as he'd kept in touch with anyone, but Varric was with the Inquisition now, and other than sending reports he'd picked up of slavers, he wrote very little directly to him. Most of his correspondence he sent through Hawke.

_Fenris, you know it's Corypheus behind all this. The hole in the sky, the templar army. You were there in the mountains when it all went down. There's no easy way to say this, but Alistair had a lead about some shit going down in the Grey Wardens' ranks. So we followed up on it, went to the Warden Fortress Adamant over in the Western Approach and ended up trapped in the Fade again, this time physically. Yeah, you read that right. Physically, just like those Maker damned magisters of old. First Feynriel, then twice now with Alistair. Dwarves just don’t belong there. Three times is three too many. There was this giant nightmare demon, and a spirit or Divine Justinia or some shit and well—_

_Enough deflection. I'll just go ahead and say it, Fenris: Hawke's gone. She sacrificed herself to save the Inquisitor and the Warden and me and that Seeker. You know the one. Unhealthily murderous towards books. You know how Hawke is. She threw herself in front of the nightmare demon to give us all time to escape. And here I was, the one that introduced her to him. I know we met him briefly in Kirkwall those years ago, but after our time in Antiva and Tevinter with Isabela—I've got to stop introducing people to Grey Wardens. It never ends well. Especially for Hawke._

_Varric Tethras_

When it sank in, it hit him like the pommel of a sword to the ribs. His throat seized up, his chest ached, like invisible chains wrapping around him and tightening at the hands of a cruel master. He couldn't breathe. He crumpled up the letter in his hands. He fell to his knees, gasping. He blinked furiously and toppled over on his hands. The pointed ends of his gauntlet dug into the floor, leaving deep scores in the wood. “No,” he said, barely discernible above the chatter. Cato nudged at his side, whining.

“No,” he repeated, standing up in one swift movement, flaring his brands. The little tavern quieted, though he paid it no attention. He growled and threw the bottle at the wall, where it shattered into a hundred thousand little pieces and stained the wall red. It splattered and dripped down the wall like blood. 

“NO!” Fenris said, putting his fist through the stain—through the wooden wall of the tavern. As he pulled it out of the wreckage, the red cloth on his wrist caught on a piece of jagged wood and tore, nearly rending the strip in two. 

The anger left him as soon as it appeared. His skin tingled, lightning raced through every nerve, and he turned his head in shame. Fenris unhooked the ribbon ever so gently, pulling his arm from the hole. He slumped back against the wall, sinking down as his legs gave out. Cato laid down beside him, putting her head in his lap, her warmth a comforting presence. 

He couldn't breathe. In his rage, he'd torn what little he had left. _Foolish, foolish man_.

He closed his eyes, cradled his wrist in his hands, and pressed the strip of cloth to his lips. “I will not allow it,” he whispered. A broken promise—an empty prayer.

His tears fell, dampening the cloth. 

_“I am…alone.” He turned away from her._

_Hawke reached out to him. “I’m here, Fenris.”_

_No, you are not, Hawke. Not any more._ A few more deep breaths as he wiped the tears away with his bare palm. He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath, trying to find calm. It would not come. It would never come again. A cold burning chill ate him up from the inside, spreading along his lyrium markings, reducing his muscles to so much ash.

He stood up anyway, no matter how hard it was. The atmosphere choked him; he had to get out! The patrons had formed a little half circle around him, but none of them had come within ten feet or so. He shot them a glare that could cut stone, tears still making their way down his face, but they parted for him. None of them said anything as he strode towards the exit. 

He ignored the bartender’s stammering, but he threw a sovereign on the bar for the damage. Cato trotted after him into the night, growling at anyone who came near. 

The cold wind on his face soothed his grief, if only a little. It grounded him, kept him from flying apart into a thousand tiny little pieces. He took a deep breath and held it, releasing it slowly. Hawke. Trapped in the Fade. After walking there physically, like the Magisters of old. 

Fenris couldn’t help himself. He laughed bitterly, his arms around his sides, slumped in on himself. The few stragglers on the streets crossed to avoid him. It all came back to them in the end, didn’t it? Magisters. He would never be free from their influence. 

_“Promise me you won’t die? I can’t bear the thought of living without you.” He ran his fingers through her hair._

_Hawke, serious for once. “I don’t make that promise unless you do.”_

_“Nothing is going to keep me from you.” A kiss. A covenant. A promise he would never forsake._

Irony of ironies. Only herself, who kept her from him. A death only delayed, in the end. A promise broken, burned, and left in ashes. He would never touch her again. See her smile, hear her laugh. _What am I to do now? There is nothing left of me. If she is—_ Fenris couldn’t bear to make himself even think the word. _I can only follow_.

The thought latched onto him, gaining ground as he wandered through town, an impossible beast.

The moon rose, high and bright and cold. The distant light bathed the town, but Fenris found himself left in shadows. Restless, he walked through deserted streets, his cloak whipping in the wind. _Hawke_. Her name, a litany on his lips, a refrain of _no, this cannot be_ , and yet, it disappeared into the wind with each measured breath, the taste bitter in his mouth.

He was nothing. He had nothing. She gave him _everything_. She left him nothing.

_Perhaps into the Waking Sea_? The little town was close enough, and had not the cliffs of the Wounded Coast.

He drifted through the fringes of town until his bare feet met sand. He curled his toes, digging little toe-shaped furrows into the dunes. The scent of oranges, the feeling of warmth wound their way through his memories. A twisted branch lay half covered in the sand, bleached white by time.

He felt Hawke beckon to him, drawing him into the sea. Moonlight, high and cold, reflected off the sands. Mist rose from the place water met earth, and its long fingers caressed him like a lover. He gasped as his feet met the icy surf. So cold, it took his breath away. 

He walked up to his chest, and he finally felt like the cold outside matched the cold inside. He took a deep breath and prepared to take the final steps. Something stopped him, though. More than that long ago conversation with Sebastian. He gazed up at the moons, the frigid water lapping at his chest. _Wait_ , they seemed to say. A warm breeze blew. His hair waved in the wind.

"Well, well, well. Hardly a fitting end for such a fine warrior as yourself, don’t you think?”

He knew that voice. Fenris whirled, nearly tripping in the water. He had enough presence of mind to grab his sword. “Witch,” he snarled. 

She’d walked out of the sea, but no water dripped from her form. There she stood on the shore, her hair shaped like dragon horns, familiar brigandine armour as red as he remembered, though he had seen it but once. The white-haired woman smiled, showing nothing but teeth, her lips the colour of blood. “Endearing epithet. I prefer Flemeth, but witch will do just as well.”

“Why are you here?” Fenris spat. 

“Perhaps I do not wish to see such a waste. Perhaps you remind me of someone I once knew, long ago.”

“Cease your riddles! I will not have your games!” Fenris said, wading towards the shore. He would not let this thing see his weakness. They would meet on solid ground.

She swept her arm out wide. “What is life but a grand Game? There are no better stakes, and yet you would gamble yours away on a useless roll.”

“My life is not a game,” Fenris said.

She shrugged. “I beg to differ, but I'm not here to argue semantics. It is curious, that you freed yourself only to chain yourself to something else.” 

Fenris bristled. “It is a chain, but one of my own making. I made a choice.” He turned away from her and forced himself to say it. “And she is d-dead.”

Flemeth shook her head. “Oh no. Not dead. Not yet.”

“You cannot possibly mean—”

“Oh, but I can.” Her deep voice resonated, echoing over the sea.

Fenris swallowed thickly. Hope, desperate hope blossomed in his chest. Hawke may yet still be alive. And if she were, Fenris would lay siege to even the Fade itself. “You do not tell me this without reason. You want something in return. What would you wish of me?”

She threw her head back and laughed—a throaty, rasping chuckle. “So very eager to live now are we? When you were so eager to throw your life away not so long ago.”

Fenris worked his jaw. A vein pulsed in his forehead. The sound grated on Fenris’s nerves. “Just tell me what you would have of me.”

She placed a large seed in his palm and curled his fingers over it. “A guarantee is all I ask, this time. It is all I need. Keep this with you, always. Never let it leave your person.”

Fenris looked down at his hand. The seed had grown vines; they weaved themselves together to form a necklace. He placed it over his head. It glowed briefly, lighting his brands, then settled against the hollow of his throat. He shifted from foot to foot. It felt too much like a collar. “I shall endeavour to keep to our agreement.”

Flemeth inclined her head. “See that you do. In the Fade, she remains. Safe she is, for now. For how much longer, I cannot say. I would hurry if I were you.”

Fenris blinked for but a moment, and she was gone, to the sound of rasping laughter and the susurrus of surf on the sand.

He knew nothing of the Fade. Just that disastrous trip into the dreams of a young dreamer, once upon a time. He didn’t even know where to begin. He'd need help. Someone who knew Hawke and would risk their life for her. Someone who knew the Fade. He grimaced. Only two he could think of, and he couldn’t trust either. One, however, was on the way to the stronghold of the Inquisition, and it would save him valuable time. He did not like it.

But Fenris knew where to find the mage.

–

Several days of travel led Fenris to a brothel on the border of Nevarra. The clientèle was by necessity discrete, but even they gave the figure slumped over the bar a wide berth.

The long blond hair was bedraggled, tied up in a loose knot. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the stress had carved deep lines in his face, and hollowed his cheeks. He had lost weight. Not even welcome amongst his own kind any more, or so he had heard. 

“Mage,” Fenris said. He hadn't understood Hawke leaving him alive at the time, but now he was grateful that she had. 

“Oh, well isn't this is a bloody well gorgeous end to a bloody buggering day,” Anders muttered over his ale. “Last thing I needed was you to be in it.”

Fenris said, “Have you heard the news?”

“What news?”

“About Hawke.”

“I don't care!” Anders crowed, sloshing his drink all over the front of Fenris’s armour. He slumped over and laid his face over his crossed arms.“I don’t care,” he said again, muffled. He appeared to be speaking to the polished wood of the bar.

Fenris ground his teeth. “I would ask for your help, mage. Please.”

Anders perked up.“And you picked a brilliant way to do it. Asking nicely. What kind of trick is this?”

“It is not a trick.”

“So you say.” Anders tilted his head. “What are you really up to?”

“I will not ask you again,” Fenris said. “Please help me find Hawke.”

“Let me think for a moment.” He pretended to think. “No. She's dead. I'm starting to think you're more out of it than I am.”

“I do not have time for this!” Fenris grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up. “This is your fault! You blew up the chantry and got her involved in this mess. You should help remove her from it!” He shoved him and let go. Anders stumbled with the momentum, barely managing to remain upright.

“Oh, demanding now, are we? I knew you'd turn back into that snarling mad dog you are.” Anders staggered forward catching himself on Fenris. “My fault Hawke finally decided to up and run off on you, eh?” He gulped down the last of his tankard and wiped what sloshed out on his chin with the back of his hand, which he then preceded to place on Fenris’s shoulder. “And then _died_ for her trouble.” Tears began welling up at the corner of his eyes.

Fenris curled his lip in disgust, glaring at Anders's hand as if he'd smeared it in something unpleasant, but he did not remove it. “The next time you touch me will be your last.”

“Do it!” Anders hiccoughed. “Exactly what she would have wanted, right? To kill me? Like you did her?”

“Pah! You’re not worth it!” Fenris pushed his hand away, but that caused Anders to nearly fall over. Fenris rolled his eyes, but looped the mage’s arm over his neck and helped him steady himself. “You are lucky she still cares for you.” 

“You didn’t protect her! You got her killed!” Anders wailed. “You were supposed to protect her!”

Fenris growled. “She is not dead. You will help me find her, mage!”

“What?” said Anders. He blinked stupidly, and listed on his feet. “Want to run that by me again?”

“I said she’s still alive! _Venhedis_! Listen to me for once in your pathetic life, you drunken fool!”

“Well, what do you need me for, then? If you remember, she chose you. You go run after her, like the good little dog you are. I’ve got things to do here.”

“Like drink yourself into an early grave? I do not care, but Hawke would not wish this for you. Did you hear how she perished?”

“No one tells me anything any more. Not since Hawke stopped writing. I heard the news through the town gossip, just like everyone else.”

“They left her in the Fade, fighting a nightmare demon. Do you know anything of such matters?”

“A nightmare demon?” Anders looked thoughtful, but then he glanced down at his empty tankard and narrowed his eyes. He glanced back up at Fenris and back down again. He nearly fell. “Wait a moment. What is it exactly you're planning? They left her _in_ the Fade? Her body would have wasted away by now. There's no point.”

“Physically in the Fade,” Fenris said through gritted teeth. “Half-wit. Would I be talking to you otherwise? You were there with the _somniari_. I'm well aware of what that entails.”

Anders just stared at him stupidly. He blinked, shook his head, and then blinked again. Then he scrambled for a quill, an ink-pot, and some paper. “Like the magisters? How!?” He started scribbling down bits of pieces of words in shorthand, interspersed by calculations. “Nightmare...nightmare,” Anders said, tapping his chin. The motion made him wobble.“That would imply some kind of fear, maybe? A corruption of a spirit of valour, perhaps?”

“Valour?” Fenris asked. “There are demons of such kinds?”

“There was one at my Harrowing, If I recall correctly. And it’s spirit. Say it with me,” Anders opened his mouth extra wide on each syllable, lengthening the word beyond any reason. “Spir-it.” he slurred.

“Like Vengeance?”

“He was Justice once. It's what happens when spirits are turned from their original purpose.” Anders sniffed. “Because I wasn't good enough.” He turned his eyes to Fenris, his head wobbling. “I don't know why I'm telling you.”

“I don't, either.” Fenris said, only to smell Anders's horrid breath. The mage had fallen on his shoulder. Fenris shook him off, and his head fell off and clunked on the table. Anders had passed out. He would have one nasty bruise. It would go well with the hangover. The thought made Fenris smile, the first since he'd learned of Hawke's alleged death.

But now he had to deal with him. Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. He dug through Anders's pouch for coin to cover his tab. He gave the serving wench the lot of it, but she shook her head and told him the amount, which was far more than Anders had on him. Scowling, Fenris tossed a couple of silvers to her. Upon hearing her acknowledgement, he threw the mage over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and left the brothel. Stares and high pitched giggling followed him to his own inn. 

He dumped Anders on a bedroll on the floor in a corner, making sure he was still breathing, and leaned against the solitary bed. He shut his eyes. A mistake, every bit of it, but there was nothing he wouldn't do to see Hawke again. Guarding what you had and keeping your head low only worked when the eyes of the whole continent were not upon you.

–

The weeks spent travelling to Skyhold were...unpleasant, to say the least. If he thought Anders was bad the first day, it was nothing compared to having him as a companion without Hawke to mitigate his behaviour.

Still, even with the delays, they made good time. Fenris barely rested, and whatever else he could say about Anders, the mage was just as determined as he was to make it to the doors of the fabled Skyhold. 

Like a migrating bird, he found himself almost guided to the front door of the keep, something tugging at his brands, pulling him along. The seed around his neck pulsed. His lyrium whispered of an underground door. He felt for a moment he could walk through without any of the inhabitants noticing that he was there, but he blinked his eyes and shook his head, and the feeling left him.

As he and Anders came up to greet the patrol, the guards started, jumping and shouting at one another and pulling out their blades. The captain was an elf, strangely enough. With _vallaslin_ , no less. _The Inquisition has made allies of the Dalish as well? Odd_.

Fenris argued with them vehemently. As he was not a recruit, they did not want him to enter, especially without chaining Anders. They knew who he was, all right. Who they both were.

“Get. Varric.” Fenris would not budge. He did not care what they did to Anders after, but until he helped Fenris find Hawke he would not be imprisoned. He needed him. Fenris paced. The soldiers stationed at the valley felt differently, and it seemed like an age passed before one of them led them up the path to the hold. He pointed to his eyes with two fingers, then to Fenris, then to Anders, then back to himself. “I'm keeping my eyes on you two.”

Anders rolled his own. Fenris sympathised with the sentiment.

It was a long walk to the mesa upon which Skyhold sat nestled by the surrounding mountains. Good defensive position, one entrance. Probably several boltholes leading through the mountains. The Frostbacks were notorious for connected caverns, or so Hawke said once. 

Skyhold was enormous on the inside. It had to be, to contain such an army. They travelled through a market to get to a set of stairs. Dozens sparred in a ring taking up a good one fourth of the courtyard, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and horseflesh. A man came and got Cato to lead her to the kennels.

Perhaps even more interesting were the circle of mages chatting amicably with several templars, a far distance from Kirkwall, before. When they caught sight of Anders, a majority of them glared. The mage shrunk in on himself but held his head high. The displeasure and dislike directed at him were almost palpable. Fenris did not envy the mage at this moment. 

A short walk up a set of stairs and they were led to massive double doors. The Great Hall was as grand as anything one might find in Minrathous, with an impressive throne set underneath stained glass windows. The whole hall and throne were done up in the Fereldan style, with wolves and mabari everywhere. Odd, Fenris considered, seeing as how the Inquisitor was supposedly a Marcher. 

They were led to a table in front of a roaring fireplace and encouraged to sit down. 

He didn't have to wait long before the dwarf came in, clad in a familiar long coat and silk shirt. Varric raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and smirking at them.“Blondie. Elf. This is an unexpected surprise. Seeing you here. Together. And also not the brightest thing you could have done, walking up to the front door of the Inquisition like this.”

“Why, you and your Templar friends going to string me up?” Anders said.

“I wish they would,” Fenris muttered. 

“We just might,” a deep female voice sounded out from behind him. Fenris whirled, and looked up to find a qunari female standing behind him. She had dark grey skin and a soft, rounded face making her look young. Unusual, considering the hard lines of her race. She had a massive set of horns, curved elegantly back like a ram’s. 

His eyes flickered to the staff on her back. _Sarebaas_. His lip curled. _Yet another mage_. He tensed before making himself relax. He laughed at himself. At this point, it was almost a given. Why not let the entire continent fall to mages, between the Hero of Ferelden and the Herald of Andraste? So long as she could control herself and didn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, he didn’t care. 

Anders paled. 

Fenris inclined his head. “ _Shanedan_ , Inquisitor.”

She waved her hand, “I’m _vashoth_ , that’s not necessary. I couldn't give two shits about the Qun.” She held it out. “Hello, I’m Kostasala Adaar.”

“Very well.” Fenris took her hand. “‘Peaceful soul,’ for an ex-mercenary and a leader of an army that could rival kingdoms,” he said, matter-of-fact.

Adaar laughed. “Well, my Tevene is a little rusty, but you don’t look much like a ‘little wolf,’ either. And it is followed by—what was the translation again? ‘Cannon?’ Where's Bull when you need him?”

Fenris found himself warming to her. _She sounds like Hawke_. His lip twitched. “I grant you that.”

“So I find myself having to ask,” Adaar wiggled her eyebrows. “Were all the stories about you and Hawke true? I've always been curious about the fisting.” _Scratch that. Definitely more of an Isabela_. 

Someone gasped and whispered behind them, “But didn't the Champion...”

Fenris cut his eyes over to Varric, who had the most curious expression on his face. He ran his hand over his own. “Blasted dwarf,” he muttered.

“Hey, I’m a storyteller. It’s what I do. And uh, you seem a lot less upset than what I was expecting,” Varric said, hands up. “You did get my letter, right?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “You know why I am here, Varric. I would wish to learn all of what happened.” 

“Not to say I’m not happy that you’re not trying to kill me, but you’re acting like you’re in good spirits. Or you know, deep in your spirits. Just saying.”

“Hawke is alive,” Fenris said simply.

Varric sighed. “Now I know it was hard on you, but you know just as well as I do that that was a death sentence.”

“Do not patronise me, dwarf. I am well aware of what it could be. But what I know is that she is alive and I will find her.” Varric shared a look with Adaar. It was strange seeing Varric share that sort of familiarity with someone that wasn't Hawke. 

“Honestly, Varric. Do you really think I'd go anywhere with him, if I didn't think it was possible? If he says she's alive, I believe him,” Anders said.

“And your uh, passenger, doesn't have anything to say about that?” Varric asked.

“I've told you before it doesn't work like that. Don't any of you have any real idea on how the Fade works?”

Adaar shrugged. “I never went to a Circle so don't know much about the academic stuff. Hell, even Dorian and Solas are better at the theory than I am. I've been taught a little bit by Vivienne, but I'm more like a bow you point and shoot.”

Varric huffed. “Try cannon.” The qunari and dwarf both laughed. Fenris’s lip twitched.

Anders sniffed. “I've seen plenty of mages here. They were Circle trained. Surely one of them should know and told you. Theoretically, if she were able to escape from the nightmare, she could live indefinitely as long as she has enough willpower, and Hawke's one of the most determined women I've ever seen. ”

“What are you saying, Blondie?” Varric asked, crossing his arms.

“The Fade's not like here. It's shifting and malleable, unwilling to maintain a specific shape for long. It can happen. The _somniari_ do it by dreaming, but even they'll waste away given time. If she's there physically, she could live off the air, gain sustenance just by breathing. It's one of the rumours that that's what the elvhen _uthenera_ meant and a reason why the elves lived forever. Pure speculation, of course, but there is always a grain of truth in every legend. “

“But why wouldn't Solas tell us that?” Adaar asked. “He's our resident expert on the Fade. And a fellow apostate. And an elf.”

“I wonder,” Fenris said dryly. 

“But that's only if she survived fighting the giant spider demon,” Varric said, “So it could be pointless anyway.”

“I don't think it's a good idea,” said Adaar. She got up from the table. “Well, I'll leave you to go do what you’re best at, Varric. I've got to finish these reports and then I'm going to go see what Josephine’s up to.” She left the room for her quarters. 

The dwarf laughed. “Well that's the last of her we'll see for tonight. She's worse about Josephine than you were with Hawke, and I never thought I would say that.”

“Well, it seems like you're certainly fitting in nicely, Varric,” Anders said, propping his feet on the table. 

“I do what I can,” said Varric.

“So, Storyteller, shall you begin?” Fenris asked, leaning forward and putting his hands together.

Varric slid his chair back. “It's quite a tale. One minute, I'm a little hungry, Blondie, want to come with? So Fenris, still like wine?”

“Is there a giant hole in the sky?” Fenris answered.

“Touché.”

“It appears the dwarf has learned Orlesian. Aggregio if you have it, D’Alessio if you don’t.”

Varric shook his head. “Blondie?”

“Sure, Varric. Anything to escape his company for a little while.” They left the room. 

Not too much longer, a bald elf walked in, with the aura of magic. He almost walked past Fenris, then he perked up and paused, backtracking to Fenris’s table. 

“Hello. I am Solas.”

Fenris didn't respond. He tapped his fingers against his arm, waiting for Varric to return from the kitchens with Anders.

“Your markings are curious. I can’t ever say I’ve seen their like, and I am quite experienced with such things. They are not quite vallaslin, are they?”

“It is none of your business, elf.”

“You call me elf like it does not suit you, like we are not of the same.”

“We are _not_ the same.”

“Is it because I am a mage? If you are who I think you are, I have heard of you hatred of them.”

Not so long ago, that had been true.“I do not hate mages. Most mages cannot control themselves, or their lust for power.”

“And the ones that can't?”

“I cut down.”

“Just like that?” Fenris shot him a flat look, but Solas didn't seem to take the hint. “And elves?”

“Content to serve masters. I am not.”

“And yet, you followed the Champion around. Even now, you wear her mark.”

Fenris pushed him against the wall and slammed his fist into it. The bald elf didn't even flinch, and had already prepared an ice spell that burned against his armour. “My _choice_ ,” Fenris hissed. “It is none of your business.”

The elf mage touched his brands with his magic, causing them to light. For some strange reason, it hurt more than Fenris ever thought possible. He doubled over in pain, and fell to his knees, shouting invectives in Tevene. 

“That's lyrium!” the bald elf gasped. “That's barbaric and should not be possible. I thought that knowledge had been lost! Who did this to you?”

“For the last time,” Fenris managed to ground out, “It is none of your business!”

“Solas, what's going on? I thought I heard dulcet tones speaking Tevene. I thought my father must have come back, what with the string of verbal abuse.” The dark-haired human waved his hands dismissively before catching sight of Fenris on the ground. “Oh, who's this?” He walked around and caught sight of his lyrium markings on his arms. “Wait, I know you. You're the one Danarius—”

Fenris knew this man. He'd learned all the rivals of the House of Danarius as said man’s bodyguard, and Dorian Pavus had been an up-and-coming prodigy before Fenris had made his escape. Fenris struggled to his feet and sneered. “Do NOT speak that name. You don't hold any power over me so don't presume—”

“I wasn't presuming anything—” And it descended into verbal chaos as they started talking over one another.

“—if the Inquisition were aware they harboured a viper in their midst—”

“—a viper? Well that's hardly sporting, now is it—”

“—So much as touched a hair on Hawke's head—”

“— _You're_ the Champion's lover? What am I saying, of course you are—”

“—kill you where you stand—”

“—So would a lot of other people, you’re not exactly _unique_ —”

“Ugh!” A loud noise of exasperation cut into their argument. “I am trying to have a meeting with a Grand Cleric and I cannot do so with your incessant racket!” A large imposing figure stomped through the large doors with an expression of fury on her face. She had short, cropped hair, burning amber eyes, and a strong jaw. A scar cut through one side of her face. Fenris was instantly reminded of Aveline by her bearing, but with a Nevarran accent. “Is it so much to ask you to keep it down?”

“I fear this is my doing, Cassandra,” Solas said. “I apologise.”

“Your doing? How unusual!” She turned to Fenris. “And you! I don't know who you are, but surely as a guest of Skyhold,” she trailed off, looking him up and down. Then she squealed, and clasped her hand to her mouth as her face and neck turned a burning red. Her wide eyes twinkled. “You're Fenris!”

“The last time I checked, yes,” Fenris said wryly.

She held her hands in front of her as if she were in prayer. “You're the one that facilitated the duel with the Arishok. And can rip people's hearts out through their chests?”

“In part, yes,” Fenris said, a bit wary now. He widened his stance and rolled on the balls of his feet.

“Will you do me a favour? Here, hold on a moment, I've got it with me.” She rummaged through the bag at her waist and pulled out a book, then reached for Varric's quill and ink-pot. “Will you sign my copy of _Tales of the Champion_?” She asked, flipping the book to back lining. Contrary to what he was expecting, the book didn't have a stab mark through it. 

Fenris blinked. “I, uh, yes.” Slightly taken aback, he scribbled his name in blocky, uncertain script. His name was right next to Hawke's and Varric's. And oddly enough, slightly above Merrill's, Carver’s, and Aveline's. 

She sprinkled drying sand on it, and then sighed dreamily. “It's so romantic the way you two came together despite all the odds!” She closed the book and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you!”

Solas and Dorian were staring at her as if she'd grown another head. “What?” Cassandra asked. Then realising where she was and what they had witnessed, she blushed again and tucked the book into her bag. She cleared her throat and tucked her hands behind her back in a parade rest. “Now stay quiet. I've got a meeting to continue,” she walked out of the Hall, her cheeks burning and her head held high.

“Now that's something I never thought I would witness,” said Dorian. “Cassandra as giddy as a schoolgirl.”

“Agreed,” said Solas. 

Varric and Anders came back from the kitchen with a few maids, laden with foodstuffs. Seeing the men all staring at the door, and Fenris and Dorian side by side without trouble, Varric just had to ask, “So, what'd I miss?”

–

“And that's it. That's what happened,” Varric said, polishing off his latest tankard of ale.

“It's quite a fantastic story, I must admit,” said Fenris, leaning back, his eyes troubled. “You failed to mention the _altus_ was there in your letter.”

“Oh come on, Firefly,” Varric said. “I know you don’t like Sparkler, but you know he had nothing to do with it.”

“I did not say he did,” Fenris said, used to Varric’s penchant for nicknames by now. “Even I can give the benefit of the doubt.”

“And for that, I’m _ever_ so grateful,” Dorian said.

Fenris ignored the interruption, continuing, “I am merely seeking perspective. That is all.” He had his hands crossed in front of his mouth, brow furrowed in deep contemplation. “None of you saw Hawke die.”

“Just her wielding her staff against a giant spider,” Dorian said. “The size of a dragon no less. I checked _Honorium’s Compendium_. Strange that we all saw it as her fear, in the end. That is telling.”

“Her Inquisitorialness is not too fond of spiders either,” Varric said. They all looked at him. “Long story.”

“Didn’t we already cover this though?” said Anders. “We gain nothing by going over it without a plan of action. Can’t we just go? Have Lady Adaar just _swish_ ,” he opened his hands like curtains spreading, “And we’re in?”

“Do not forget that it took the blood of thousands of slaves and extraordinary amounts of lyrium for the original magisters. The veil was thin there,” Fenris said.

“You’re not a mage, so I know you can’t feel it, but the veil is thin everywhere these days, what with all those rifts,” Anders said.

Dorian huffed. “Cracked open, more like. However, there is that little matter of the orb of Destruction,” said Dorian. “And the archdemon at Adamant. Ah, there she is!” He said, as Adaar came walking back through the Grand Hall. “Just in time, my beautiful Lady. Would it be possible for you to open another rift and let our esteemed elf friend inside?”

“I’m no friend of yours,” Fenris said at the same time Anders shouted, “Oi! I’m going too! Don’t think you’re going to leave me behind!”

Adaar shook her head. “I can't risk it. I'm sorry. It’s a miracle we even survived the first time. And considering what happened to start the Blights, no one should ever go there.”

“There's no way I can enter it without you?” Fenris asked with more calm than he felt. 

“Not if you want to have a way out again,” Lady Adaar said. “And I don’t like the idea I may be condemning you to death.”

“By that logic, Hawke just mucking around in there is all right?” Anders said. “Who knows what manner of unspeakable, world ending acts she could be releasing at this very moment!” Anders said in false horror.

Adaar didn’t smile, her face serious. “Even so, I can’t help but think it’s against the will of the Maker.” _An Andrastian, against all odds_ , Fenris mused.

And it seemed like everyone just accepted it as the final decision. Even Varric. From the way Anders was fuming, he had not. He was the only other.

“Very well,” said Fenris, his face a veneer of calm. Inside, he was seething. 

“You’re just accepting it?” said Anders. “I can’t believe I went anywhere with you!” Anders noisily slid his chair back from the table and stalked off, hands in the air. 

Fenris nodded and said goodbye to Varric. He went to go find Anders. He was sitting on the west ramparts, his feet dangling over the edge of the wall.

“So bringing me was useless then?” Anders asked without turning around. “What was the point of your empty words?”

“They were not empty, and I still need your help. I could feel the Inquisitor through my lyrium. Was it the same for you?”

“Yes, there was a sort of humming in the Fade. Stronger, I think, for Vengeance.”

“Good. Then we have a plan.” They stood in quiet for a long while, gazing out over the mountains.

Anders spoke up. “What’s the plan?”

“I need you to create a distraction. I will get her alone.” He lit up, watching the bones of his hand. “This is a priceless amount of lyrium, and it still holds power. It should channel and amplify her mark.”

“So, what? After all this, you’re leaving me behind?” Anders said.

“There will only be time for one.” He turned pleading eyes to Anders. “I need someone to hold off her allies until I make it through.”

“So you brought me to be cannon fodder. I’m not surprised.” Anders laughed bitterly. 

“No,” Fenris said. “Mage, we’ve known each other for ten years. We’ve fought and bled together, nearly died together. You were there when we unleashed Corypheus. You’ve dragged us all kicking and screaming into your rebellion, and we _followed_.” At Anders’s sharp look, he added, “Regardless of our reasons.”

“And?” Anders asked. “Rubbing it in again?”

“We are not friends, nor do I desire to ever be,” Fenris said. “But you do not share ten years and come out unchanged. I do not wish you harm. A larger mental capacity, perhaps. You’re the only one I can trust here, as odd as that seems, and as much as I dislike it.”

“And not Varric?”

Fenris moved his hands. “Did you not see? He did not say as such, but he admires the Inquisitor too much, and is wary of the Fade. It undermines his conviction, as much as he cares for Hawke. He would not help us in this way.”

“And you know, don’t you? That I’ll do it? To save her?”

“We are alike in that, you and I, and that is why I trust you.”

“Why not me, though?” said Anders. 

“You do not have the ability to channel her mark. Danarius often used them this way, revelling in my pain. You said yourself that magic and her mark are both born of the Fade. It should work. It has to.”

“I’ll find something conspicuous to do in the throne room,” Anders said. “All eyes will be on me anyway; might as well make use of it.”

Fenris knew all too well that trust made people a fool. That’s why he was only half surprised no one stopped him as he entered her quarters. Large, cozy. The fourposter there reminded him of Hawke’s in the Amell Estate, and he’d been regaled with the fact the windows were Serault glass. He heard the door open and turned to face it.

“Inquisitor, I—,”a voice with a musical accent began. It sounded Antivan. “Oh, hello Signor Fenris.” It was the raven-haired diplomat, Josephine. The Inquisitor’s lover. 

Fenris didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and turned back towards the open balcony. He expected a “What are you doing here?” but he didn’t quite receive it. Not like he was expecting. 

“Waiting for the Inquisitor, yes?” she said, walking up beside him, her hands loose at her sides, her palms open. 

Fenris shifted from foot to foot, catching her long, thorough once-over. It was true, so he said, “Yes.” He caught a shift in her eyes, a minute tensing of her hand towards the small of her back. A hidden weapon. _Just as well_. He himself had nothing to hide. He relaxed his stance, and her hand dropped.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I know of you, of course, but I don’t quite think I know you,” the woman offered. _Pah, double talk_. Assessing the threat. He had had enough of that in Tevinter. He knew of her, too. Diplomacy in and of itself was another form of attack, if one marginally less prone to bloodshed. Fenris almost preferred open combat. At least it was honest. 

“Nor I, you,” he said. “Fenris.”

“Charmed. I am Josephine Montileyet.”

“I doubt it.”

“Doubt what? That I am charmed? Or that I am Josephine?” She asked, a small smile on her face. 

“Perhaps a little of both,” Fenris said, with a quirk of his lip. 

“Come. Sit.” She gestured wide towards the divan that faced the fireplace.

The familiarity with her quarters surprised Fenris a bit, but only a little. He had long since heard the Inquisitor was fond of the noblewoman. To sit down, he would have to remove his greatsword. No matter. He laid it against the arm of the divan, and sat just on the edge of the seat.

“I will not bite,” she said, chuckling, holding a hand to her mouth.

“That remains to be seen,” Fenris said warily. 

She shook her head. “It’s a difficult thing, waiting like this, isn’t it?”

Fenris knew Josephine wasn’t talking about waiting for the Inquisitor. “It can be.”

“‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” she said, sighing. Fenris only figured she was thinking of her own. Things must not be quite as well as the rumours said.

“‘If there is any sympathy in choice, war or death will lay siege to it, making it momentary as a sound, swift as a shadow, short as any dream,’” Fenris replied.

In surprise, Josephine said, “You are well-read!”

Fenris turned his head, looking at the wall. “For a former slave, you mean.”

She held up her hands, palms out.“Oh no! I didn’t mean it like that! Are you always so willing to take offence?”

“Are you always willing to give it?” Fenris asked in return. 

“I only meant that not many people take time to commit the words to memory. I would find it impressive of even a king or courtier,” Josephine said. She sighed again. “For those words to come so easily, you think on them often. You must miss her.”

Fenris said nothing. He was not willing to state the obvious, and nothing she said bore comment.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to presume!” Josephine said. “But Hawke was,” at his sharp look, she changed her wording. “Hawke is a wonderful woman. Sweet, funny, charming, occasionally blunt—”

“And entirely too willing to involve herself in the affairs of others,” Fenris said, entwining his hands together. “Such flaws have felled stronger people.”

“But you are not so sure, no?”

“I am certain she is alive,” Fenris said.

“She’s lucky to have you,” Josephine said. “You inspire confidence.” 

“I am more fortunate to have her,” was all he said in return. 

“You really believe she lives?” Josephine asked.

“I know,” Fenris said.

“You love her much,” Josephine said after a long moment. “Enough to die for her.”

“Yes.”

She nodded, and rose to her feet. “Perhaps my Lady Adaar may be persuaded,” she said, and she left the room.

–

The full moon had peaked, shining like a white lantern in the sky. Fenris watched it rise from the Inquisitor’s balcony, leaned against the bannister, wondering at the warmth of the Keep in the cold mountain air. Fenris turned as he heard footsteps, and hoped Anders was ready. 

“What are you doing in my quarters?” Adaar said. “Josephine told me you were here. What's this about? I assume you’re going to try to convince me to change my mind?” She asked. “She has already tried. As much as I’d like to, I _can’t_ , Fenris.”

Fenris inclined his head and smirked. “In a manner of speaking.” Inquisitor Adaar stood a head and a half taller than Fenris himself, and had extraordinarily tough skin, but it was the work of a moment to have his sword against her throat and pin her to the wall, activating his brands and putting one arm through her shoulder. 

“Ah. The fisting. Not the welcome I was expecting,” she coughed, trying to edge away from the blade, but her horns caught on the stone, scraping, and she could move no farther back. A crow cawed loudly and flew away into the night. “We just don’t know each other well enough.”

“You would not do it. So I will make you,” Fenris said “Are you suitably convinced?”

“Don't do anything you would regret.” Adaar swallowed against the blade. 

“You speak as if I would regret this. No. Not if Hawke returns.”

“Please don't do this. No one else has survived! It was a miracle we made it through the first time!”

“I do apologise. I wish it were not necessary. This could have been prevented.”

“I had to make a choice,” Adaar said, voice wavering. “The Grey Wardens are the only ones who can stop the Blights. Everyone knows what happened during the Fifth Blight when Loghain exiled the Wardens. You have to understand,” she pleaded. “Killing me won’t change anything.”

“I do not plan to kill you. Merely borrow your power but for a moment.”

The sound of spellfire and yelling and heavy boots told him he was out of time. He heard Anders’s dual toned voice cry out above the din, “Hurry!”

“That’s impossible!” she said. “I had to make a choice,” she repeated, more firmly. 

He faltered, but only for a moment. It didn’t make it any easier for him. Who was he to care about the larger scheme of things? Hawke mattered. Nothing else but her, not any more. He removed his fist from her body, grasping the left hand of the vashoth mage with his own left, and he channelled his power through it, and with it, hers. She shook, held rigid with glowing green eyes and magic exuding out of every pore. Green fire coursed through his veins, and he used his right hand to rip wide the world to the Fade.

“You chose wrong!” Fenris snarled, and dove in the Fade Rift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the oddly eloquent words spoken by Fenris and Josephine. They are a paraphrase from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ I.i.134, 141-144, both spoken by Lysander to Hermia after being denied the right to marry by Theseus, Duke of Athens.


	2. In the Company of Wolves

Fenris stood on air. He reached up to touch the water that made up the sky. It had a smooth, silky texture, but none of it dripped. Just then, a drop splashed in his causing him to grunt and blink it away. He knew that if he doubted its existence for a moment, he would fall. He scooped out a ball, and he turned it into ice with but a thought. _This must be what it is like to be a mage. No wonder they go power mad_.

He walked through the world sideways, feeling a little better when he managed to find a mountain of rocks to stand on. He followed them up to the ceiling, and felt much better when his perspective flipped.

He pulled out his sword and ambled through the path. The world broke apart and reformed before his very eyes. He did not pay very much attention to it. He only had one thing on his mind: finding Hawke.

The mage had said willpower was important. He could not falter, and concentrating on Hawke was sure to lead him to the nightmare’s domain.

He did not know how far he walked. Only that it felt like an age, walking the narrow path that made and remade itself with every step of his. He never grew hungry, he never tired—he never felt the need for food or sleep, though he was sure he could conjure it with a thought if he tried.

Occasionally he heard giggles, as if from a young child. They were better than the screams that echoed with no one to make the sound.

He would catch brightly coloured lights at the corner of his vision, but when he would turn to look, they would disappear. His keen awareness, honed from his years as slave anticipating his master, felt eyes on him that never truly went away

And still the trail stretched on forever through the ether. He would make it to her. He could not let himself get discouraged. He would not let himself lose hope, even as the endless days twisted into endless nights.

He never looked back. Just continued straight on towards the horizon. He never left the path.

The world constantly changed around him. A freezing blizzard turned to burning desert sands. A tower of books stacked themselves high and crashed to the ground as water. Demons did not bother him. His purpose was too pure.

And still he continued on, until he ploughed into a blue barrier that blocked the path

“ _Fasta Vass_! Let me through!” He curled his lip. He struck the barrier with all his might. A loud chord struck like the clanging of a bell. “This will not stop me!”

“It is not meant to.”

Fenris drew his sword and whirled, pointing the tip at the throat of the apparition that appeared before him, the first that had stayed within his sight. She had cropped black hair and dark brown eyes with a slightly upturned nose.

“Who are you?”

“I am a guide, of a sorts. You may call me Bethany if you want to.”

“You look like Hawke.” The woman inclined her head. “Bethany was the name of her sister.”

Again, a nod. “Yes.”

“She is dead. I have never met her. You wear nothing but her face, spirit.”

“Perhaps. But you still need me. And I dearly wish you'd call me Bethany. Her memory lingers here, stronger than perhaps anything else, save you. Hawke always said I reminded her of Bethany.”

“Are you why I cannot get through?” He beat his fist on the invisible barrier, hard as stone. It chimed softly, the noise disappearing into the ether. Green mist swirled around them, wrapping around his hand like a chastisement.

“No, Fenris. You are.”

He scoffed. “Cryptic nonsense.”

“You made this barrier.” The apparition ran her fingers down the side of the curve of the glowing blue shield. The motion caused a shiver to run down the entirety of his spine, branching out in the shape of the spread of his brands. He smelled oranges, bitter and sweet. “Not intentionally.”

“The lyrium,” he breathed.

“Exactly so,” she said, turning up the corner of her lip. She tapped her left temple. “Memories, Fenris. Locked away, here.”

“From before?”

“Yes, and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Fade is not like your world, Fenris. It is ever shifting, and changes so long as mortals draw breath. Both of you were part of a Dreamer's dream, once. And ever since, you've dreamed together.” Bethany swept her hand to the side. A vision appeared of the bedroom in the Hightown Estate, Hawke wrapped protectively around Fenris, her head nestled in his white hair, her arms over his, her hand in his, as he curled into a little ball with her at his back. “I've watched you both for a long time.”

“That is disquieting,” Fenris said. “Why the interest in us?”

“Has Hawke never told you of what it means to be a spirit healer? She calls on me for help, to heal wounds that would kill most mortals.”

“A spirit of what? What are you?” He pulled out his sword and reared back to strike. He would not hesitate if her answer displeased him.

“Hope,” she said. “I am Hope.” She turned, showing her back to him, tucked her hands behind her back, and started walking around the barrier. When he did not follow, she beckoned him. “Come, there are things you need to see.”

“How can I be sure you are a spirit and not a demon?” Fenris asked.

“Who said we are any different?” The spirit asked. “We are our natures. Humans ascribe names like good or evil. We just _are_.”

“If you said that to inspire trust, you have failed.” Fenris began.

“I am here because you hope—because she hoped. But hope can so easily give way to desire, despair, even fear. As you well know.” She smiled, wistful and sad. “I tell you that because I do not wish to change. It is so very easy, and she is so very close to the edge.”

“She is strong. She has to make it. She must.”

“Hawke has always had a clarity of purpose, even when she was at her lowest. Even as the city and the people she loved fell to pieces around her. It was what drew me to her. Hope that things would be better if she just kept at it. She shines so brilliantly, Fenris.”

“I know,” he said, his voice a murmur.

“I would not see that lost,” Bethany said.

“Nor would I.”

She held out her hand. “Come. There is not much time.”

Fenris reached out to touch it, but before his fingers met her palm, he pulled back, just a little bit. Then, steeling himself, he grabbed her hand, and she led him through the blue horizon in a flash of bright blue light.

He stepped into a busy street and a donkey carrying an overladen cart nearly ran him over. Only his quick reflexes saved him. “Minrathous,” he hissed. Oh, he knew these streets. Paraded around, leashed up like a qunari mage, as was Danarius’s custom. Someone bumped into him, and he jerked out and grabbed their shoulder. Impossibly green eyes glared up at him, and Fenris gasped. It was like looking into a much younger mirror.

They stared at each other for a long moment before the youth kicked his shin and ran away. Growling, Fenris followed him through the streets. He knew this dark-haired brat. He followed him down a narrow maze of half remembered streets and alleyways. Slums and tenements.

He knew where this street led. He knew it in his bones.

Sure enough, it led to a row of hovels on the edge of Danarius’s property. Slave huts. He heard the sweet sound of singing by a thin elven woman with black hair hanging rough burlap clothes over a clothesline. A little redhaired girl with a long braid was helping her shake out the wrinkles. An orange tree stood next to the shack. If he listened closely, he could make out the words:

 

 

  
_Little clay bird, little clay bird:_  
_Will you sing me a little song?_  
_The night is coming fast and  
I'm afraid I can't stay long._

_Little clay bird, little clay bird:_  
_Won't you fly away?_  
_Won't you spread your little wings_  
_and soar into the grey?_

_Little clay bird, little clay bird:_  
_Why is it you stay?_  
_I've shattered into dust,_  
_It's time to leave the fray._

_Little clay bird, little clay bird:_  
_Won't you fly me home?_  
_My life's-blood is fading fast,_  
_Return me to the loam._

 

The little dark haired boy held out a little jade bird to her. “Oh, Leto,” the woman said in Tevene. She leaned down and kissed him on the head, and he beamed, showing a missing tooth, before running inside the house. The redhaired girl followed.

Once they were gone, though, she frowned and pulled out the little bird. She clenched her fist around it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She looked around for prying eyes, and then tucked it against her bosom.

Fenris…remembered this. He’d stolen the bird from the blonde daughter of a magister. She’d worn it too openly. It reminded him of the song his mother always used to sing. They’d whipped his mother days later when the blonde woman had come calling, pointing him out as a thief. He’d been clumsy at stealing, then. His mother had claimed she’d stolen it instead. All that hurt for his ‘gift.’

He turned from the sight of his mother’s pained face, closing his eyes tightly and swallowing heavily. He couldn’t help himself. The memories overwhelmed him, and he ran. As he dashed out into the crowded street, the buildings and people around him aged and changed and shifted into the color of his memories. He staggered into a door, the three dots on his head lighting up without thought.

The three of them sitting on the floor at a low table, his fists clenched on his legs. Such a meagre feast for Wintersend, prepared with scraps from the master’s table. Sneaking away into the early morning, past the overseer guard, abandoning Varania and his mother to sneak into the Proving Grounds for the Wintersend Tourney instead. How clearly he recalled the shine of the sun on burnished armour now! The crowd roaring into his ears, exhilarating energy surrounding the warriors. He had longed to be one of them! Sneaking to the Senators’ seating for a better look at the battle, getting kicked away, worse than a dog; happy, but bruised.

The memories assaulted him, hammering at his head, driving into his mind, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

His thirteenth name day celebration, a small cake in a cupboard made from flour carefully scrounged from the kitchen, young Hadriana pulling him out and grinding the sweet treat beneath her heel, her foot on the back of his head, forcing him to lick it up with his face pressed against the dirt.

He curled up, knees tucked against his chest, only for the shadow of his sister— _and she was truly his sister, he knew that now_ —to run through him, leaving him cold.

Varania was crying over his broken form. “Leto, you’re not invincible. One day you’re going to get us all killed!”

“I won’t,” Leto said, wrapping a dirty bandage around his sliced arm. “I’m just trying to make things better for us!”

“No you’re not!” his sister said, “You’re trying to make things better for _you_!”

He took her by the hand. “If I win, you and Mother will be free. It will be worth it.”

“And you’ll be his favoured slave. Where will that leave us?”

“I’m doing this for us,” he said quietly, near dumb at his sister’s anger. He rubbed her palm with his thumb. “He will grant my boon.”

Fenris struggled to his knees, each scene flying faster and faster. His hand touched a black iron door lying flat in front of him, and he recoiled, in horror or disgust he did not know, but the door opened inward, and he fell through.

“You are strong, my little wolf. All this pain, and no flinching. Not even a grunt. You are remarkable. To think I had such a treasure under my heel this entire time and never knew.” His master’s words dripped down his face like the blood from the branding. The red blinded him so he could not see. Somehow, that just made everything worse.

Leto bore down on the padded stick in his mouth. Pain beyond description made everything white hot, but he could not move. He would not flinch. He was doing it for them. He would not let them down.

Master frowned. “Too deep. Mark that, Hadriana. I hope the blood doesn’t interfere with the lyrium. I would hate for the magic to taint it this early.”

Agony became his world, and Leto felt himself slip away, piece by piece.

Fenris threw up as he exited the cell, sickened by remembrance of the pain. He recalled it clearly now, and it had been enough to drive one mad. “No more,” he gasped out, calling into the ether.

Another flash, and he was walking behind Danarius as people gazed at him in awe or fear. A flash of red hair had him pausing, looking behind him and down at a scruffy elf with hands marred by lye burns. She reached out to him, calling after him with a strange name. He made to reply, her name was on the tip of his tongue, but Danarius pulled him forward into the market, away from the edge of the alienage where the _liberati_ did their business. Her eyes, filled with hurt, anger, and betrayal followed him long after they passed her on the street.

“Master, who was that?” Fenris asked, stung by the familiarity.

“No one important, Fenris,” his master waved him off.

But her green eyes and bronzed skin like his own continued to haunt him until another visit to the lyrium chamber, ostensibly to check up on his tattoos, made her slip from his mind with the pain.

_He made me forget. And more than once._ Like a broken mirror with pieces thrown haphazardly together in a sack, his memories were all there, but in a jumble. He would need time to sort them out. Fenris felt hollower now with his memories than he had without. Fenis or Leto, but he had been Fenris far longer. _Perhaps it had been better not to remember_ , he thought.

But he couldn’t afford to pause. Hawke was still the foremost thought in his mind, holding all the lost pieces of himself together. As he walked through a broad arch decorated with dragons, the scene changed. He was in a field, with rolling hills and amber grain as far as the eyes could see, with a dark shadow about a mile ahead.

“Fenris, you made it through the barrier!” Hope said, clasping her hands together. “Come, we must hurry.”

“I—yes,” Fenris said. “But I am I not who I was before. What if—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “But there isn’t time! We’re in Nightmare’s realm now. You must remove Hawke from their web! I’ll do what I can!” She winked out, leaving the afterimage of a small dragon.

Fenris set his jaw and started to run.

–

Hawke paused in dropping the hay into the trough. Her stomach curdled, sick and uneasy. She’d forgotten something. A jolt of fear, a little spike of anxiety. She gazed around the farmstead, the small hut she shared with the rest her family on the edge of her vision. Nothing but empty fields and the tiny village in the distance.

“Hawke!” A sweet voice called out. Hawke shook her head and ignored the feeling.

“I'm coming, Bethany!” Hawke dropped the pitchfork and wiped the sweat from her brow. She'd been moving the feed to the troughs. They didn't have a large herd of cattle, but it took all five of them to keep their little sustenance farm going. Lothering was pretty as a painting, and a good place for them to settle. Minimal chantry presence, cheap land, plenty of escape routes. It was by far her favourite place they had ever lived.

“Bethany? Beth? Where are you?”

“Just over here! Behind the barn.”

Hawke jogged over. In the distance, Carver was mending the fence, grumbling and cursing as he did. Bethany was petting a cow with warm brown eyes. “How's the milking?”

“I just finished. Will you lead her to the pasture? I'm going to go help mother with breakfast.”

“Bethany,” Hawke scolded. “You know that’s your chore!”

“Please, sister. It’s very important!” Bethany’s lip quivered, and her eyes shone with tears. “You know I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.”

The dawn was cresting over the horizon. “ _Fine_ , Beth.” Hawke rolled her eyes and turned to the cow. “Come on, girl. I'll get you settled in right nicely.”

She walked through the idyll, rolling hills in the distance. She missed this. She moved a bit further into the field, keeping up her steady pace until a tree whacked her in the face. “What the—?”

She reached up and pulled an orange fruit down. “I don't ever recall orange trees being here.”

“They are not. They do not grow this far south,” a deep voice said.

“I'm sorry?” Hawke said.

“The temperature,” the voice repeated. “It is far too cold for them to subsist. This part is my dream, not yours.” Hawke saw his silhouette turn towards at the mountains in the distance. “Or perhaps a mixture.”

“Dream? What are you on about?”

“A nightmare.” He stepped into the light. _An elf_! Hawke thought. _How unusual!_ He had long ears that ended gracefully in a delicate point. His green eyes refracted the light, causing them to glow eerily in the early dawn. Hair, shockingly white and entirely inappropriate for his age. He stood long and wolf lean, tight leather armour sculpting every muscle of his body. He carried a great broadsword, lashed to his back as if it were nothing. What truly caught Hawke's eye, however, were the marbled white tattoos that ran the length of his body. Hawke found herself wanting to know just how much of his body that they covered. She licked her lips. He was dreadfully handsome, but that danger came with a sharp edge.

His eyes flicked down, and he stepped forward, intent. “It is...good to see you again, Hawke.” He ran a callused hand over her cheek, thumbing her lips. You are cold!” he said, surprised. His face softened, and he ran his fingers through a bit of her hair that had fallen down, tucking it behind her ear.

She stepped back and pulled away. “I'm sorry. I don't know you.” He reached for her again, and she slapped his hand away. “Don't touch me,” she said, her voice ice.

His face fell, pain overcoming his features. He looked at her with wounded eyes, desperately hurt. He turned, showing her his back. “If that is what you desire,” he rumbled.

“How do you know my name?” she asked of his back. “And why do you only call me Hawke?”

“Everyone knows of the Hawke,” he said, “And you dislike your name. Your noble mother wasn’t used to the hard life of a farmer, you told me once. She loved her husband, but missed her fine things.” He laid a claw against the tree. “And when you were a few days old, when you opened your eyes for the first time, they were a blinding green and sparkled like the finest beryl. For that, they called you Emerald. You asked me not to, once.”

Hawke did not remember telling him this, but the story was true enough. Her stomach sank, and twisted itself into knots. She looked for another subject on which to speak. “We never had an orchard.”

“No, this one belongs to Danarius. Perhaps it grew as I walked. I did not see it from a distance.” He plucked a pristine fruit down and began peeling it with his clawed gauntlet. The skin fell, then turned to snakes that slithered away in the grass. “I spent four days kneeling in water once for getting caught stealing an orange. My skin started to blister, peel, and slough off. ‘A lesson I wouldn’t forget,’” he said. “But I did. It was the most perfect fruit in the world.” He sounded young, then. “Do you truly not remember me at all?”

“No,” Hawke said. “I’m sorry.” The silence stretched between them, long and awkward.

The earth rumbled, filling the silence with fear. “We must press on,” Fenris urged. “Now!”

“But—”

“You will have to trust me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled. She jerked out of his grip and slapped his hand away.

“I sense another tasty morsel running around. Who let you in? The champion’s nightmares are so delicious.” Another earth shaking noise.

“What is that!?” Hawke gasped, looking up at the mountain in the distance. It was moving, covering the earth in vast steps.

“What we are running from!”

“Clearly! Tell me something I don’t know!”

A leg as big as a tree trunk slammed down in front of them, spiking right through a cow and pulverizing it. The cow disappeared into nothing. “It’s fake,” Hawke said, shocked.

“Not the leg! We must move!”

They ran further, dodging through Carver and Leandra, who joined the massive mountain like spider in attacking them. Leandra stepped of her skin and grew into a large sloth like creature, with rows and rows of shark-like teeth, while Carver turned purple and grew horns, his nails growing pointed and shoulders broadening while his waist narrowed.

“My family!” Hawke gasped.

“They are not your family,” Fenris said. “They never were!”

“But what about Bethany?” Hawke said. “Where’s Bethany?”

“That was not Bethany either, but do not fret. She’s a friend.”

“A friend!?” Hawke screamed, jerking away from him and veering to the right. “I don’t even know who you are!”

“ _Kaffas_ , woman! I am Fenris!” He made to say more but a giant spiny leg slammed down in between them. He shouted across the way. “I stood by your side for eleven years! You must remember! You must!”

“I’m trying,” Hawke said, realizing that breaking away may not have been the best idea and trying to make her way back to him. But their opponents kept forcing them farther and farther apart.

Fenris cursed again and reversed, looking for another way through, but there were too many legs. Not to mention the sloth and desire demon had ganged up and started attacking Hawke, forcing them further and further apart.

“YOU CANNOT HIDE!” The mountain beast said. Hawke lacked her staff, but a weapon didn't matter for a mage. Hawke threw fireball after fireball at it, but it didn’t even scratch the skin.

Another stomp of the massive leg and the dream broke apart. An enormously deep ravine opened up in the very middle of the field. It split like an egg, and Hawke had to clutch to a tree so as not to fall off as it crumbled and split like the world’s deadliest rockslide.

Fenris wasn’t so lucky as the piece of ground he was standing on disintegrated in its entirety. He jumped as far as he could. Hawke reached out her hand for him to take it. His fingertips barely touched hers, and he fell.

He twisted and stabbed the ground with his sword, grunting as he drove it deep in the soil.

“This isn’t Lothering!” Hawke shouted.

“It never was!” the elf—no, _Fenris_ —shouted back.

“Here, let me help you!” Hawke said, and she reached down to grab his hand.

“I SENSE YOU! Did you think you were going to get away, Fenris? Danarius may be dead, but that's not your new master, is it? Hawke is. Look at how she uses you, Fenris. Couldn't even tell you she was leaving.” The creature’s voice boomed so loud Fenris’s ears felt as if they were going to split.

Fenris said nothing.

“Did you really think you were ever important to her? Look how easily she forgets you, how calmly she throws away your sacrifice. You would have gone anywhere with her, would do anything for her, but she took away your choice. How is that any different from your former master?”

Hawke couldn't reach, so she leaned half her body over the floating rock. She made contact with his wrist, the one with the red ribbon tied around it. “That thing talks way too much,” she said. She pulled as hard as she could, panting with exertion. Her head spun.

The ground rumbled again, and she fell back. Fenris slid back down, snarling. It was too much. The floating rock they were on was shrinking. Hawke reached down again. “Go!” Fenris said. “You can use your force magic to escape. I will find some other way.”

“Force magic? What's that?”

“Use your will, woman!”

“The Fade hasn't been working as it should! I expect it was because of _that_!” She pointed to the spider-like thing with far too many legs. “What is that thing?”

“It controls this part of the Fade,” Fenris said. “It is Fear.”

“Andraste’s sweet ass,” Hawke said. “It’s determined.”

“You must leave me,” Fenris said.

Hawke shook her head and reached back down.“I can't just leave you to die!”

“You do not know me. It is no great trouble for you. And I would see that you live.” He clasped her hand tightly, brought it quickly to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. “Now go!”

And Hawke did, but not before looking back at him. He smiled, soft and serene, and he threw himself backwards into the abyss. Something white shone from his chest, and she saw no more.

It didn't stop the world from shaking. The spider thing leapt at where Fenris had fallen. Hawke pushed off, jumping into thin air. She recalled her magic, and she ran across pillars of earth, jumping across on them as if they were rocks lying in a raging river.

She had almost made it to where it looked like steadier ground on the other side when a despair demon tackled her through the earth.

It knocked her back into the raw Fade, and she felt her hair grow. A staff materialized on her back, and she was no longer wearing her simple homespun clothes but a thick set of stylized armour on top of enchanted cloth.

She couldn't move she felt so weak. It took forever for her to manage to get to her feet. Her arms shook with her body weight. Her muscles ached. She felt a spasm in her lower stomach, and she fell to her side, gasping. She touched her stomach, and found it rounded, her skin bare where the cloth could not contain the girth.

This wasn't possible. This could not be possible. Her stomach had another quick spasm. It felt odd: it didn't hurt, but she couldn't ignore it, or the implications.

But she didn't have time to ponder it. Demons were pouring out the hole she'd blasted through like someone had kicked over an anthill. She started running. The destination didn't matter. She just had to get away.

Around her, the raw Fade changed. It rained blood on water the colour of cerulean with streaks of teal. Geysers of the bright blue water shot upwards toward fifty, a hundred, even two hundred feet as she ran faster. The rain fell harder, and it smelt almost like a battlefield, the copper-iron tang permeating the air.

It fell on her face, blinding her. She tripped on a rock and fell. She landed on her wrist with a crunch while the other hand went instinctively to her stomach to save it from the fall. The demons were closing. The water was rising. She struggled to her feet using her other hand.

She was now running through water ankle deep. It barely slowed her, but it made it difficult to achieve any kind of speed. One of the floating rocks above her fell into the water with a resounding splash. Another one almost hit her; a translucent barrier sprang into place and deflected the hit.

The water continued to rise. It was a little over her knees now. It slowed her even more, but it also slowed the demons behind her. She looked back to see it extinguish a few of the rage demons.

She pressed on. As the water met her thighs, she tried to will the water away. Soon it would be impossible to walk—she’d have to swim. She looked back again to see one of the despair demons attempt to levitate. Blood shot out of the water and pulled it under.

Hawke chewed her lip, and forced herself to move faster. She was running out of time. She couldn’t shape the raw Fade. Something was blocking her. She had to make it to high ground.

The water rose faster now. She waded through water as high as her chest. She was losing hope. Despair set in, and a few of the eponymous howling demons rose above the water on the strength of her emotion.

The water reached her neck now. She tilted her head up, but it was rising too fast and her armour was dragging her under. She started to swim. For every two strokes she made forward she fell one back. She couldn’t use her wrist. It felt like daggers stabbing her to the bone every time she made a stroke. Beams of ice chilled the water, but didn’t make it through, numbing her but she had to keep going. She knew it was the Fade, but it wasn’t acting like it should—she should be able to breathe underwater, form a barrier or something; she could barely access her magic. The water reminded her of a templar’s Silence.

She heard muffled shouting above the water. She fought to keep her head above water, but she kept sinking. Just as she was about to run out of air and sink to the endless bottom, her will faltering, a hand reached through the water and grabbed her good wrist. It felt warm.

_Fenris_ , Hawke thought and latched into it. Her feet found purchase on the side of a rock, and she walked against it, praying desperately that she wouldn’t fall off. Her head broke through the water, and she caught the first look of her rescuer.

“Bethany!” She tried to let go but her ‘sister’ held her in a vice-like grip. “He said you’re not her!”

“Don’t! You’ll fall,” the thing wearing her sister’s face scolded her. “I’m here to help.”

Hawke glanced down below. They were high up, finally above the water, though it still continued to rise The demons were climbing up behind her. A particularly ambitious terror demon slithered up the side of the cliff like it was flat ground. And Fenris had said she was a friend. She didn’t know if she could take the elf at his word, but he _had_ sacrificed himself to save her. That, and she had a choice between this helpful ‘spirit,’ and that churning mess below her.

“All right,” Hawke said. Bethany pulled her forward and over the lip, and she landed on her injured wrist again. She cried out in pain.

“Why haven’t you healed this yet?” Bethany asked.

“You were the healer,” Hawke said. “Not me. Or Bethany was.”

“You do not remember me then,” the spirit said, looking downtrodden.

“I am afraid I don’t.”

Bethany—she was going to stick with Bethany for ease of something to call it—grabbed hold of her injured wrist. It exuded a translucent white cloud when they touched. “Here.”

“What?”

“Just take it. Your magic knows what to do even if you don’t.”

Hawke’s magic reached up and connected with it like a greedy little leech, sucking the cloud away from Bethany. She directed it into her wrist, and it began healing it almost immediately. In three or four minutes, it was as good as new, if weak. The magic immediately directed itself to her various scrapes and burns. “Wow. I did that? It always made Father laugh, how I was better at elemental and arcane spells while Bethany was better at creation and spirit.”

Bethany smiled. “You did. You’ve learned much.” She reached up and ruffled Hawke’s hair, much like Hawke used to do for Bethany herself. “I’m proud of you, sister.”

Tears welled up at the corner of Hawke’s eyes, and she had to fight to remind herself that this wasn’t truly Bethany. “When did I learn how to be a spirit healer? That’s what I did, right? And you must be a spirit. A demon couldn’t do this, could they?”

Bethany frowned. “Nightmare. He must have mined your memories. I did wonder why it was Lothering. It must have had the most potential. It is where Bethany died.” Hawke winced. She touched her palm to Hawke’s head, sending tendrils of more magic. It made Hawke’s scalp tingle. “They aren’t gone or locked away, just suppressed, locked in a loop before you left for Kirkwall. It is the work of moment. You are unwell. He was draining you dry. And what he didn’t get, the baby did.”

“Is that why my magic’s not working?” Hawke did feel awfully weak.

“The Fade _is_ memory, of sorts.” They heard a scrabbling sound close to them. “Those blasted annoyances!” Bethany said. “Hold on a moment.” Bethany struck Malcolm’s staff on the ground, and the top of the floating rock dislodged and sailed away on air. They covered a vast distance in but a few seconds, and fairly soon left the demons and the maelstrom behind.

“That’s a little better. It will take time for them to catch up, if they ever do, and Nightmare is more than likely too focused on his new prey to worry about us.” Bethany placed her hand on Hawke’s head again, and warmth spread from her palm. “There. All done.”

Little wisp-like baubles appeared in front of Hawke. She reached out and grabbed them, and she was immediately assaulted by the memories. They didn't come back all at once. Instead, they teased her, giving her flashes and glimpses of them like paintings situated behind dark curtains. Hawke turned to her companion with new eyes. “You’re Hope, aren’t you? You’re the spirit that came to me after—after—after Fenris left and Mother died!” Hawke stood to her feet, staggering as a wave of dizziness hit her. “Fenris! We left Fenris! Maker’s golden teeth, I left him behind so he wouldn’t do this! He would kill himself to protect me.” She started pacing on the small floating island. “He might have! What if he’s dead? I can’t just leave him!”

Bethany grasped her arm, stopping her from pacing. “We can’t charge in there blindly. We must form a plan of action.”

“I must have hurt him terribly,” Hawke said, “Rejecting him like that! We have to go back. We have to go back NOW!” She knocked away Bethany’s arm.

“If you do that, Nightmare will find you again. We have time. For now, you must rest. We have to make it to a safe place.”

Hawke felt another spasm in her stomach. She clutched at it. “And how did this happen? I don’t recall…”

“Easy now, Sister. Stress does you no good. The baby’s quickening. She feels your agitation.”

Hawke curled her arms over her stomach, looking dejected. “How did I not know?”

Bethany waved her hand, and a vision of Hawke and Fenris’s last night together showed in mid-air. Hawke writhed on the bed. Fenris was kissing her neck, trailing lower and lower down, past her bare breasts, down to her stomach—

“Okay, okay!” Hawke said, her face colouring. “I get it! I get it! That’s unsettling, how you can call that up like that. And it’s even worse because you look like my sister.”

Bethany shrugged. “You asked.”

“That was four months before I entered the Fade. Can you tell me how long I’ve been trapped in here?”

Bethany shook her head. “I am sorry. I do not keep track of such things.”

Hawke put her hands on her hips and twisted to the side. Her stomach bulged out over her thick belt and trousers. “I look like a druffalo,” she grumbled. “This is more than four months.”

“I do not claim to be an expert on such things, but I would say you are almost at term,” Bethany said.

Hawke was quiet. “The Fade won’t hurt the baby, will it?

Bethany said, “There is no way to tell. I am sorry.”

Hawke glanced behind the flying island. “We have to go back and get Fenris. We can’t just leave him.”

Bethany gave her a hug, which Hawke returned gratefully. “We won’t, Hawke, we won’t.”

Hawke awkwardly moved to the ground, leaning back on her hands to rest her aching back. A dull ache formed at the base of her spine. She shifted her posture, reaching up her arms and stretching, trying to alleviate the pain. It didn’t seem to work. She kept fidgeting. As time went on, the pain grew worse, radiating out from her back. Hawke was used to pain though, so she just gritted her teeth.

They flew on. The Fade shifted and changed before her very eyes. Even the raw Fade was a glittering green nightmare. Everything was a dream that never ended. She saw pockets of spirits and dreamers, frightening tableaus beyond all imagining. Distance didn’t mean anything in the Fade. Everything was an illusion.

“Are we close to a safe place?” Hawke asked. They had been traveling for what seemed like forever.

“We are still in Nightmare’s domain.”

Hawke stared at her, jaw dropping in disbelief. “Still? Just how powerful is that thing?!”

“It is the fears of all Ferelden and Orlais culminated into one being. He feeds on them, and that is why he is so powerful. Even here in the fringes of his domain, his power is but weakened slightly.”

“Maker.” Hawke took a deep breath. “Stop, Beth. We can’t keep running. We’ll never make it. Not if we want to save him.”

“What do you suggest we do? You can’t fight as you are.”

Hawke bared her teeth in a fierce grin. “Can’t I? This is the Fade. It is shaped by _my_ will, and I refuse to believe Nightmare’s will is stronger than my own.” She struggled to her feet, reaching for Malcolm’s Honor. She planted the golden staff on the bit of floating ground, changing the direction back towards the Nightmare’s domain, gathering her mana, reaching out and pulling at the Fade, gathering it to her. “Magic will serve that which is best in me, and not that which is most base!” She struck the ground, sending out a white shockwave that cleared the landscape around her.

She reached again, yanking at the fabric of reality. She pulled it around, moving her hands in a circular motion. “Magic will serve that which is best in me, and not THAT WHICH IS MOST BASE!” She pushed out with both hands, and struck the ground again. A tidal wave of power surged out from the bottom of her staff and coalesced into a ethereal dragon. It winged up behind her and roared, clearing the way in a show of purple flame. Demons fled from it.

“Hahaha,” Hawke laughed, breathless. “I proved,” she panted heavily, “her wrong. I can totally be a dragon. That counts, right?” She fell to her knees, still leaning against the staff, when she felt liquid gushing from between her legs. “Oh, shit! Beth, I think I did a little too much”

Bethany turned, placing her hand over her mouth, “This is quite inconvenient timing.”

“You don’t say!” Hawke said.

“Relax, stress makes it worse!”

“What do you know? You’re a spirit! It’s not like you’ve ever given birth before!”

“I’ve seen it done.”

“And that just makes you an expert, now doesn’t it?” Another wave rocked her, and she clutched at her lower stomach, falling on her hands.

The labour was long and painful. But they flew on, the magical dragon leading the way, sustaining itself on the Fade through Hawke’s channeling. The spirit helped her out of her trousers and balled them up so her head would have somewhere to lie. You couldn’t tell time in the Fade, but it felt like forever. Sweat covered her. Wave after wave hit her hard, though she felt it mostly in her back. She couldn’t tell if that was normal.

Nothing about this was normal, but there were no complications. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the baby’s head came out with a piercing cry. It took still longer for it to make its way completely out. Bethany helped with the tearing, and the passing of the afterbirth.

The spirit held the tiny baby in her arms. “She’s a good size,” Bethany said. “From what I’ve seen of your world.”

Hawke had detached her hood before, and Bethany used the tails of Hawke’s tunic to wipe the birth away from the infant’s skin. “A little girl?” Hawke asked, exhausted.

Bethany swaddled her in the fur-lined hood, and she handed her to Hawke. A shock of white hair, and bronzed brown skin. It wasn’t just her head. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were so pale she appeared to have none.

She had pointed ears. The baby opened her eyes. They were ice-white, eerie and supernatural. _She’s beautiful_ , Hawke thought. She looked unnaturally pale, and a little sickly. Hawke used the last of her will to infuse her with an aura of strength. The babe’s copper colour returned, and Hawke breathed a sigh of relief.

“The ears,” Hawke said, voice shaking. “Why does she have pointed ears?”

“I know no more than you,” Bethany said. “At a guess, it is because the elvhen-blooded deal better with the Fade. It is customary for you to name them now, is it not?”

“Normally, you wait for them to be cleansed in the holy fire in the chantry,” Hawke said. “But considering the circumstances, I think we’ll pass on that.”

“So what’s her name?”

Hawke had no idea. She didn’t even know she had been pregnant. It had to be something fitting, something wonderful. Something Fenris would approve of. She was going to get him back. They were on their way.

_Fenris’s eyes glittering in the low light. "Now the battle awaits us_. Na via lerno victoria. ' _Only the living know victory.' Fight well, Hawke_."

_I may not be able to fight, but I have Beth, and I have my magic. We_ will _get out of this_ , Hawke thought. “Victoria,” Hawke said, looking down at her baby. “Her name is Victoria.”

–

Fenris woke up in a brightly lit cell. He snarled, pacing back and forth in front of the bars. He knew exactly where he was. The slave holding cells. Danarius wasn't so mundane as to have them underground, oh no. He had a finely decorated converted manse. It showed he could afford to waste money on his slaves, and he did not fear their escape.

That was what Fenris’s lyrium had also been in the end. Power. A way to show off.

Speak of the devil. There the man was, in the flesh. He walked in with ornate robes, hands laden with rings. He smelled of myrrh, and of orange blossoms. Fenris shivered involuntarily. “You’ve been a bad, bad little wolf.”

Fenris said nothing. He would not give him the satisfaction.

“Puppy, you know how I get when you don’t answer me. Cease this wilful behaviour at once.”

Fenris knew better. He would not give in. “I know what you are, demon. Cease this useless charade. Never again.”

“Oh, you’re being difficult. I like it when you’re difficult,” The creature ran his hands along the curve of Fenris’s jaw. He could not stop himself from flinching. “Oh, I see how it is. Forget your brave words. You still fear me. And it is delicious.”

Fenris willed him to go away. He was better than this. _The Fade is shaped by strength of will. The Fade is shaped by strength of will_ …He kept repeating it to himself, over and over again.

Danarius’s voice, mocking. “The Fade is shaped by strength of will, nyeh!” He slammed the bars. Fenris jumped. “Not in my part of the Fade. You belong to me now, as will your master. How you cling to your mind being your own! I own you, even there.”

“You will not have her,” Fenris said, more calmly than he felt, eyes down.

“Oh, but I will. I had her before. Her fear tasted so delicious!” His pupils dilated, and he rolled his eyes back inside his head and moaned. “Most of it was about losing you. I can’t imagine how it will taste when it comes true.”

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay calm. “Yes, but she escaped. Now where does that leave you?” The demon wrenched his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. Fenris snapped at his fingers, forcing him to pull away.

He wiggled his finger. “Naughty, naughty,” Danarius said. He pointed to a rack in the middle of the cells. “I think I’ll do it here. Remove the lyrium in front of her, slow and painful. Let her watch you scream and beg and plead for mercy where there is none.” Fenris stayed quiet.

“No? That doesn’t get you?” Danarius said.

“You are dead,” Fenris said. “I killed you.”

“And you thought I would stay dead? I’m a _magister_ , Fenris. Corypheus is still alive, and you killed him too. Why not me?

“Oh, I know what will get you hot and steaming,” Danarius said. “Once you’re dead, I can take your lyrium and give it to her. Oh, but wouldn’t that be something? To have the Champion of Kirkwall at my beck and call, willing to bend—sometimes literally—to my every need?”

“No! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” Fenris bellowed, reaching his fist through the bars and grabbing at him.

“There’s my wilful wolf,” Danarius said. He took a deep breath, like he was inhaling smoked herb. “Your fear is delicious. So nuanced, even more so than the Champion.” He heard a roar and the building shook. Light filled the prison.

A solid golden chamber pot flew out of nowhere and hit the false magister in the head, knocking him senseless.

“Ugh,” said Hawke. “He still talks too much! Will you do the honours, Beth?”

“Sure thing, sister.” Bethany waved her hand, and all the cells sprang open, including Fenris’s. “I’ll meet you on the other side. I’ll try to distract him for as long as I can!” She dragged the body down the hall, a barrier springing into place as she disappeared through a door.

“Curious choice of weapon,” Fenris said, fighting a smile and the utter surge of relief that filled him at the sight of Hawke.

“I thought it fitting. Besides, I found it in a stack of corrupted crystals on the way here. What I’d like to know is how something like this ends up here.”

“One of life’s infinite mysteries, to be sure,” Fenris said.

“That’s near outright laughter coming from you.”

“I see your memory has returned.”

“Yes,” Hawke grimaced. “I’m sorry.” They heard a groaning. “The pothead’s waking up. We should go before he gets all spidery again.” She wore her torn and bloodstained Champion’s armour, but her breastplate was missing. He found it strapped to her side. She had a strange bundle of cloth strapped tightly to her chest. It looked like the armour’s hood, what with the wolf fur lining,

“Agreed,” Fenris said. They started running. While the chamber they were in matched what he remembered of the holding cells, the outside appeared to be a mishmash of different prisons across different times, leading to a very bizarre architecture. It seemed like almost every turn they took led to a dead end. “Another dead end. Perhaps I should make an attempt?” Fenris said as they came back to another crossroads. “You can’t seem to figure a way out of this. Perhaps we should split up. I will distract it.”

Hawke said, “Give me a moment. I’m thinking. Leave you behind again? Perish the thought!”

“Hawke, if you take much longer to think we will all perish,” Fenris said, voice wry.

“Ugh. This place is a Goddamn maze. You sure it’s nothing like you remember?” Hawke asked. Fenris shot her a flat look. “Andraste’s ashes,” she muttered. “This way!” They ran through the long corridor. It ended up being another dead end. “There’s no way out!” Hawke shouted.

Just then, Fenris heard a coo. It sounded like a tiny animal. It came from the direction of Hawke.

“Victoria! Now’s not the time to distract Mummy. Shush, dear,” Hawke said to her chest, rubbing the bundle.

Fenris’s head turned so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “Victoria?” he asked incredulously. “Who is that?”

“My—or well our—child,” She lifted the edge of the hood on her chest, where she had it tightly strapped. Fenris saw a shock of white hair before she pulled the cover over again.

A dazed grin stretched wide across Fenris’s face for a moment, before he hissed, “You madwoman! You took her with you!”

“Well it’s not as if I could walk up to the nearest spirit and say, ‘please babysit.’”

“You shouldn’t have taken her into danger! With your hands full, you can’t defend yourself or her.”

“I can do just fine thank you very much! What was I supposed to do, leave you?”

The building shook again, this time dropping bits of debris. Hawke waved it away with a careless hand. She could only effect bits and pieces of the Fade here. It was the heart of the Nightmare’s power.

“We can argue about it later,” Fenris said, “The spider is returning.”

Hawke scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “It uh, may not be the spider. Bethany and I brought company.”

Just then, Victoria let out a piercing cry. The pendant at Fenris’s throat pulsed and roared and it was echoed by a resounding roar. Mist poured into the cells, making the air thick and impenetrable.

The mist burrowed into him, diving into his heart and threading along his veins with each pulse of blood. Fenris threw his head back; white beams of light shot from his mouth and nose and eyes and lyrium. He screamed as it pulled, taking him into the air. A jet of white light blasted through the top. The roof of the cells cracked open, and a white head peaked through.

A dragon with a pearlescent white sheen blinked its amber eyes down at the three of them. She had long blue horns that swept back into sharp points, like an august ram’s. “ _You seek escape,_ ” her voice whispered in Fenris’s mind. “ _I can do it, for a price_.” She sounded female, and old, her voice layered with time.

“Do you hear that?” he asked Hawke.

“I do,” she replied. “She spoke in our minds. You are not the dragon I summoned earlier.”

“ _I am not, though that manifestation is part of what drew me to you. The whole of the Fade felt your power. You have strength I’ve not felt in a very long time_.”

“What manner of demon are you?” Fenris asked.

Smoke poured out of the dragon’s nose. “ _I am no demon. Nor am I a spirit or god. You give me great offence. You walk in here as flesh and blood. So do I_.”

Hawke grabbed his arm. “We may not have much choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Fenris said. “Name your price.”

The dragon turned her long neck backwards, looking at the Black City that dominated the sky no matter where in the Fade they went. “ _I wish for a bond. If you bond with me, the citizens of the black cursed place will not be able to find me. Or you_.”

“You want us to bind you?” Hawke asked.

It roared. Hawke covered Victoria’s ears. “ _Not a binding. A bond. We shall be as equals, sharing power. It is the only way to escape this cage_.”

“Just what sort of power?” Fenris asked.

“ _Nothing too different from what you have now. Just more. You will share my lifespan. I refuse to die prematurely_.”

“I do not desire immortality,” Fenris said.

“What’s your name?” Hawke asked.

“ _Humankind called me Lusacan. It is pretty enough. It shall do_.”

“Just how did you get caged?” Hawke asked. “And why does that name sound so familiar?” she murmured.

“ _At one time, the world you live in and the world you call the Fade were one and the same. But it is not a perfect prison. There are people born with the keys to small doors, such as yourself. I believe you call them ‘mages_.’”

“That is not an answer,” Fenris said.

“ _Very well. It was an elf that sealed us away, after the death of their great mother. Many of my younger kin managed to escape, but we eldest were trapped here when they split the world. We sing the song of tragedy to mourn our children, our lost home_.” She opened her mouth and let out a mournful song. Fenris couldn’t understand the words, but it sounded beautiful, unlike anything he had ever heard before. The sound called to him, reverberated in his soul. He didn’t know the words--they were ancient and beyond understanding, but it reminded him of his mother’s song, the very one that had compelled him to steal the bird so long ago.

The rumbling grew closer. They had lost their head start.

Lusacan finished. “ _Now is the time to decide. We will not get a second chance_.”

Fenris and Hawke looked at each other. “The both of us?” Fenris asked. The dragon bobbed her head.

“I accept,” he said. The words tasted bittersweet on his tongue, like the last drop of sweet vermouth, tainted by wormwood.

Hawke grasped Fenris’s hand and squeezed his hand with hers. “Me too.”

The dragon sang again. Lusacan dipped her head down, pressing her forehead to Fenris’s three dots on the center of his. Both of them shone a bright white blue as they touched. It went from the necklace Fenris wore down his lyrium.

The dragon roared, and Hawke understood that as an invitation. She grabbed Fenris’s hand and touched the side of Lusacan’s face. Lusacan’s forehead was wide enough for Hawke to press her face there alongside Fenris. She did, and stroked the dragon’s fine snout as if she were a horse. Hawke could feel her magic curling around her in tendrils, felt the familiar hum of Fenris’s lyrium pulse through her.

All of the sudden, she was flooded with power. She felt the connection open wide. It was like trying to swallow the ocean; the vastness of it burrowed its way into her soul. She felt Fenris’s wonder, and fear, and love for her. She sent back a pulse of reassurance, and love, and warmth and comfort, and was met with one of gratitude.

“ _Climb my tail_ ,” Lusacan said, and the voice was more than a loud whisper. It reverberated around her skull.

And they did, settling comfortably just behind her wings. “ _Hold on_!” And she took to flight, just in time for the Fear demon to grow to his massive size again, breaking out of his Danarius shell like a butterfly from a chrysalis. He spat webbing at them, the long thick string sticking to Lusacan’s sides. She rapidly beat her wings, flying upwards as far as she could. The thread snapped from the tension.

The dragon dove down, down, down, tucking her wings to her side, to gather more speed. She raked the spider with her front claws, causing him to howl with rage. He jumped impossibly high and bit Lusacan on the side, just behind her forearm. His fangs sank deeply into her side. She turned her head and blew dark blue fire at him. A sharp acrid burning scent filled the air. Hawke felt the impression of the fangs at her side, and by the way Fenris jumped, so did he. They felt everything Lusacan felt.

Fenris heard a tiny squeak. A little tiny drake had climbed up his lap and was holding on to his armour for dear life as Lusacan pinwheeled around in, trying to avoid a spray of venom. It nearly hit the place Fenris and Hawke sat, but she cast an arcane shield, covering the three of them. Well, four of them.

“Bethany?” Hawke asked of the little drake, her arms curled protectively around Victoria. It nodded.

The spider jumped again, using his mastery of this part of the Fade to walk on air. They clashed again and again, going at it hammer-and-tongs.

Lusacan reared back and struck, her head as fast as a serpent’s strike. She bit through one of the spider’s front legs, causing him to overbalance and screech in pain. Before she could pull too far away, the spider cut the dragon’s neck, and her dark purple blood stained her flank.

With a wave of her wings and the sound of a thunderclap, Lusacan generated a torrential amount of blue rain. It quickly flooded even the massive section of the Fade, and the Nightmare had to struggle to keep his footing as the water rose.

The two titans were destroying and rewriting massive amounts the Fade. A stomp of the spider’s foot crushed mountains. A flutter of Lusacan’s pearly wings dug deep furrows into the ground.

Nightmare spat more venom at Fenris and Hawke, but Lusacan moved to intercept, deflecting it with a wing and a loud roar of pain. It not only caught her left wing but her front leg also, causing her to list sideways and plummet to the ground, submerging herself in the water up to her shoulders. Hawke held tightly to Fenris, who held tightly to the sharp shoulder spines of the dragon.

Even on dragonback, the water came up to their knees. “C’mon Lusacan, get up!” Hawke urged.

“ _I am trying_!” she growled through gritted teeth, trying to stand but collapsing as she put too much weight on her left leg.

Thinking back to his first steps in the Fade, Fenris imagined that cold ocean. He took a deep breath, reached down, and stuck his fist in the water. He felt Hawke’s magic flow through him. It was like his own, and he could amplify it with his lyrium, if he so wished. Ice radiated out of his fist from the dragon, freezing four of the spider’s legs that were still submerged.

_We are connected_ , Fenris thought. _What is yours is mine. I cast without thinking_.

_Yes_ , Hawke thought at him. _We are one, you and her and I_.

Hawke opened the tunnel to Lusacan’s own power, and channeled her healing through the dragon’s leg, repairing torn muscle and ripped ligament.

The magic itself followed the path of the acid up to the ragged membrane of the left wing, knitting it together in a wave of light. Before the ice managed to freeze her inside of it, she used her newly healed wing to leap up and into the air.

“You think this is the end?” Nightmare roared, his movements frantic trying to escape from the frozen wasteland. The dragon pounced, knocking the Nightmare to the ground. Hawke pulled magic out, a mix of the three of them, and trapped Nightmare in a Crushing Prison. Mystic ethereal arms held it in place.

With a satisfying crunch, Lusacan bit the Nightmare demon in half. “ _I know it is_.”

It fell to the ground, shattering into thousands of lesser demons. Hawke and Fenris cast spell after spell destroying the fallen remnants. Lusacan flamed large swaths of them, drowning the rest in her hurricane of water swirled by her wings. .

“Thank the Maker! It’s over,” said Hawke. “Now how do we get out?”

As if in answer, Fenris felt a jerking motion along his brands and green power glittered across his skin and up to the dragon’s. “ _Fenris has the memory_.“ Lusacan burned a hole into the Fade, the water melting around them. It tore a massive rift in the Fade, and she dove through before it closed.

-

They emerged from the Fade in a flood of water. The wave crashed against the throne room, knocking over tables, washing chairs and people away, extinguishing braziers. The dragon barely fit in the grand hall, and broke through the doors, lyrium-phasing through part of the stone, emerging into the courtyard where it shook its wings dry, making it appear to rain in the sunny day.

Shouts sounded all across Skyhold as the men rose to arms. Victoria shifted in her hood at the noise. Fenris and Hawke paid them no mind. The tiny drake nuzzled against Fenris’s cheek; Bethany had followed them out. Fenris scratched underneath its chin.

He turned to his lover, embracing her tightly. “Hawke, I would have you make me a promise.”

“Yes, Fenris. Anything,” Hawke said, hugging him just as tightly.

“No more sacrifices.”

“I think that can be arranged. Though it might be difficult, what with the end of the world and all.”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, a note of warning in his voice.

She huffed. “Oh, fine!” She said. “As long as you do the same.” She pitched her voice lower, “You do not know me. I mean, really, Fenris?” Hawke opened her mouth to say something else, but Fenris chose that moment to capture her lips with his. She stiffened in surprise at the sudden move, and then melted against him, bringing her arm around his neck. She deepened the kiss, softly biting his lip so he would let her tongue find entrance. They kissed slowly, drinking from one another.

Hawke placed her forehead on his, smiling.

“Hawke?” A disbelieving voice rang out across the courtyard. Hawke turned. “Anders!” she crowed. With one last press of her lips on Fenris’s nose, she handed Victoria over to her father, slid off the dragon, and ran across the courtyard into his arms. He twirled her around, laughing. Her bright laughter resounded throughout the open space.

The larger dragon turned and lowered her neck. Fenris grasped his daughter closer to his chest, holding on to her tightly and slid down, landing on the ground as lightly as a cat.

He had no sword. He was not sure he would be able to channel Hawke’s magic outside of the Fade. Nothing to protect him from the Inquisitor’s wrath; yet surely Lusacan would not let anything happen to him--to them. Fenris knew that with absolute certainty. “I see you survived, mage.” Fenris said.

He scoffed. “No thanks to you,” said Anders. “I can’t believe you did it, you stupid bastard,” He clapped Fenris on the back. “You actually did it.”

“Anders, thank you,” Fenris said with feeling. The scruffy blond nodded.

Victoria chose that moment to giggle. “Oh, who’s this? She looks just like you!” Anders reached out for her, as if to take her.

Fenris curled his arms around his daughter, turning his shoulder so his spiked pauldron was in Anders’s direction. “Don’t even think of it, mage.”

“And now it’s back,” Anders said. “That didn’t take long.”

Hawke laughed. “It’s friendlier than I expect you’ve ever been.” She reached for her baby’s hand, rubbing her fingers. “This is Victoria.”

“She’s got pointed ears. Are you sure she’s yours, Hawke? Aren’t human-elf hybrids supposed to look human?” Fenris sneered at the implication..

“I think I would know, Anders. I gave birth to her after all,” Hawke said.

“In the Fade?” Anders asked, bewildered.

“Sweet thing!” Another shout interrupted them..

“Hawke!”

Hawke turned and her jaw dropped. “Isabela! Merrill! What are you doing here?” She hugged Merrill. Isabela pulled Hawke’s head into her cleavage and mussed her hair with her knuckles. Hawke retaliated by blowing a raspberry on her bare skin, and reached down and tugged Isabela’s absolutely ridiculous feathered hat over her face. They both laughed.

“We heard you were dead from Varric and that Fenris had gone crazy and committed suicide by way of international organization, and Sparklefingers over there was sitting up here in prison. Since we knew the world was ending—I mean come on, those working together willingly it had to be—we had to go see it for ourselves. And look at you! Nice dragon, by the way,” Isabela whistled. “Look at the size of that thing! Bigger than the _Siren’s Call II_. How’d you fit it in here?”

“Practice,” Fenris said flatly. Isabela rolled her eyes.

“Anders?” Hawke asked.

“Isabela busted me out,” Anders shrugged. “After she got the story from me.”

“Oh, Hawke? Who’s this? said Merrill in her lilting voice. “Oh, she’s an elf! Tiny and sort of squinty with her eyes closed like that, isn’t she?” Hawke snorted. “Oh, that sounded like an insult. I mean she’s just sort of got a squishy face and—that’s not much better, is it?”

“Don’t worry about it, Merrill. I’ve missed you both so much!” As if to prove her point, she hugged each one of them again. “You’ll have to tell me everything you’ve been up to. Aveline and Carver?” Hawke asked.

“Well, Carver said there was no point coming with us, seeing as how you were dead and all.”

Hawe rolled her eyes at Isabela’s words. “Typical templar,” she muttered.

Isabela ignored her, continuing, “Aveline is the only thing that’s keeping Kirkwall together after Sebastian got that bee in his wee little bonnet. They’re talking about making her Viscount.”

“She’s absolutely going to hate that,” Hawke said.

“Oh look! Here comes the cavalry,” said Isabela.

“But I don’t see any horses,” Merrill said.

Sure enough, there came the Inquisitor flanked by Cullen, her companions, other advisers, Alistair, and a whole horde of soldiers.

Lady Adaar’s first words upon seeing the massive dragon sitting on her front stoop were, “Sweet Maker! I don’t even want to know. I am sick and tired of dragons. First, there’s that fake archdemon. Then, there’s that whole thing in Mythal’s clearing. Now there’s a white one sitting on my doorstep. They don’t pay me enough for this.”

“I don’t think you get paid at all,” said a large qunari man with massive horns. “I don’t think killing things and going through their pockets counts.”

“You’ve got a point, Bull,” said Lady Adaar.

Alistair stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Hawke, it’s good to see you again. I thought you were gone for good. When your lover-boy pulled his little stunt they called me back from the way to Weisshaupt. Solana sent Velanna in my stead. A Dalish spitfire, like that’ll work out well. I’m almost looking forward to it.”

Hawke nodded. “Same to you, Alistair. Fenris has yet to tell me about it, but I’m sure it was impressive. If not for him, I’d still be there after all.”

Isabela turned at the noise and winked saucily when she saw the Warden. “Well hello, handsome. Any chance I could borrow you for the summer again?”

Alistair pulled his collar and cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, send a letter to Solana. I don’t think she’ll have a problem with it, though. I’ve always wanted to go sailing. I hear you’re styling yourself an Admiral now.”

Another voice. “H-hawke.”

Hawke beamed. “Varric.” The dwarf ran forward and tackled Hawke. “Ooof! Careful now, I’m still sore. It’s all right, Varric. I’m here. I’m alive.” She patted him on the back. “It’s all right, Varric.” She heard a sniffle. “Varric, are you crying?

“Nah. Something’s in my eye, that’s all.” He finally let go of Hawke, and he clapped Fenris hard on the back. “You did it. You son of a bitch! You actually did it. That was some lousy shit you and Blondie pulled, but you actually did it.”

Fenris smiled. “Of course I did. You wound me, Varric.”

Varric shook his head. “I have got to hear this one. The sleeping dragon on our doorstep would be enough, but with the rest of it?”

“In time, Varric. You’re buying,” Fenris said. “And I get a cut of the royalties this time.”

Just then, Victoria cooed. “Holy shit, elf! You cloned!” Varric held out his finger and Victoria latched onto it. “Strong grip. What’s his name?”

“Victoria,” Hawke said.

“A good strong name,” Solas said.

“That’s what, ‘victory’ innit?” Sera said in her thick accent. “Good, ‘cause we’re gonna kick that Coryphenus’s arse, yes we are. Course, you came from the Fade with that weird dragon thingie.” She poked the young baby in the stomach. “She’s not some—ugh!” Sera pulled away as a young blond man appeared out of nowhere.

“Happiness. Laughter and joy and love, a long journey, a lost sister, Lothering’s gone and Bethany’s gone and Mother’s gone and Father’s gone and Carver’s gone. Fenris’s gone. What if I lose her too? I can’t lose her.”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “I fear losing what little family I have more than anything. Perceptive boy,”

“You won’t,” the blond man said firmly, turning to Fenris. “He won’t let it happen. And Maker willing, he will never leave your side again.”

“Exactly so,” Fenris said. “But there is one thing.” He handed Victoria back to Hawke and walked to the Lady Adaar, kneeling down and placing his fist over his heart. The dragon on his shoulder hissed. “I apologise. I could not let her be lost.”

“I could have you executed,” Adaar said. Hawke and her companions bristled, save Varric who looked torn. She shook her head. “But I won’t. There’s no lasting harm. You owe me some repairs, though.” She said, gesturing to the ruined throne room. “And some way to make up for my missed date with Josephine.”

“I can do that,” Fenris said.

Her face softened, and he saw the first true smile he’d seen from her. “I wouldn’t tear you away from your family. Not after you risked everything. Feel free to stay at Skyhold as long as you need. And get up. I’d much rather have a friend,” Adaar said, “than another underling.”

Fenris stood up.

“You’ll also have to park your dragon somewhere else as well, I’m afraid. There’s just nowhere to put it.”

Hawke laughed. “I think we can do that.” She pulled Fenris to her, cradling Victoria in between them. “We did it. I can’t believe it. We’re here,” she said.

“And alive,” said Fenris.

“Together,” Hawke said.

“Together,” Fenris repeated.

Isabela grabbed all three of them into a hug. “Together,” she said, winking at them.

“Oh, may I join in too?” Merrill asked. Hawke nodded, and they all piled together, not caring about dignity, or the group of stunned people staring at them. Varric was next to join the group hug, followed by Anders. Alistair looked at the Inquisitor and shrugged, then joined in, hugging Isabela and Merrill. Hawke managed to put an arm around his neck.

Cole tilted his head and eyed Cassandra. She made a disgusted noise, but opened her arms. Cole hugged her.

Leliana and Josephine tackled Cullen.

Vivienne and Solas just looked at the commotion and shook their heads, while Blackwall looked put out and lonely. He bore it nobly, however, until Cato, Hawke’s mabari, pounced on him and started licking his face with her tongue.

The Iron Bull lifted up the Inquisitor, Dorian, and Sera in one smooth motion. Dorian looked exasperated, while both women glared at him. “What?” he said. “I wanted to join the love.”


End file.
